LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. | 

@fptjt, dopijnj^i !f a. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Church and Sunday School 
Influence 



/ 

By ANNIE NELLES DUMOND, 

AUTHOR OF 

"The Life of a Book Agent," "Ravenia, or The Outcast Redeemed," 
"Happy at Last, or A Sequel to the Life of a Book Agent,' 1 '' "National Reform, 
or Liquor and its Consequences," "The Hard Times: The 
Cause and the Remedy," etc, , etc. 




ST. LOUIS: 

Published by the Author, 
1895. 



The Library 
of Congress 



WASHINGTON 



Copyrighted, 1895, by 
ANNIE NELLES DUMOND. 



TO THOSE MINISTERS OF UNTOLD GOOD, 

Ube Suntms Scbools of Hmerica, 

AND ESPECIALLY 

To My Own Beloved Church and Sunday School, 



THIS VOLUME IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, BY 

THE AUTHOR. 



PREFACE. 



The favor and kindness with which the former 
works by the authoress have been received by a 
generous public have induced her again to solicit 
their indulgence. In the preparation of this work 
she has been actuated by an earnest desire to 
benefit the human family. She has no personal 
objects to accomplish, but is moved to the publi- 
cation of this work solely as a means in the hope 
of accomplishing some good to her fellow- 
creatures. In the hope that this little volume 
may be received and judged by a generous public 
with the same kindness and favor awarded to her 
other works, it is respectfully submitted by 

THE AUTHOR. 



CONTENTS. 



I. The Lord's Supper— Jesus a Jew ... 9 

II. Tardy Repentance 19 

III. Out of the Depths . 36 

IV. The Broken-Hearted 

V. James Morton— Pioneer Church Life in the 

Wilderness 91 

VI. Plain Words for Husbands and Wives . . 117 

VII. Beggar Bill; or the Silver Dollar . . 129 
VIII. Aunt Clara's Dream 149 

IX. The Governess of Greenwood .... 172 

X. Mary Reynolds 209 

XI. The Result of Church -Members' Influence . 249 



Cburcb an& Sun&a^Scbool Influence, 



t 

THE LORD'S SUPPER. — JESUS A JEW. 

BY ELDER D. W. DUMOKD. 

In attempting to write upon this subject, it is 
not altogether without some feeling of reserve, lest 
harm should be done. But during our travels, 
we have seen the fermented wine and leavened 
bread upon the Lord's table in so many churches, 
which is wrong. It does not represent the Lord's 
blood or his body, and we are thus prompted to 
try in our feeble way to correct some of these 
wrongs. 

First. Jesus Christ was a Jew, and in the face 
of that fact, he could not, and would not have 
used anything that was fermented. Now, we 
assume that the blessed Lord and Master was a 
Jew in every sense that belongs to the term, and 
as such He lived in every sense during His 
whole life strictly according to the Jewish law 
(See Matthew 1st and 2d chapters). Christ Jesus 
was born King of the Jews, which will forever 
settle this question beyond the possibility of a 
doubt. 

(9) 



10 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



Now, if Jesus was a Jew, a fervent Jew, He cer- 
tainly must have practiced all of the rites, cere- 
monies and usages of the law of Moses while here 
on this earth. Now, if this be true, we must go 
to that law to find out what were the customs under 
which the Jews lived at the time when Jesus was 
here on earth, and when the first Lord's Supper 
was instituted. Please turn to Exodus 13: 3, and 
read : " And Moses said unto the people, Remem- 
ber this day in which ye came out of Egypt, 
out of the house of bondage, for by strength of 
hand the Lord brought you from this place. 
There shall be no leavened bread eaten." Now 
this service was to be kept throughout the whole 
Jewish dispensation in this same month of each 
recurring year. Again, see Exodus 13: 6. We 
read: "Seven days thou shalt eat unleavened 
bread, and in the seventh day shall be a feast to 
the Lord." Again 7th verse : " Unleavened bread 
shall be eaten seven days, and there shall no 
leaven bread be seen with thee in all thy quar- 
ters." Again, turn to Exodus 12: 14. It reads : 
"And this day shall be unto you forever a me- 
morial, and ye shall keep it a feast to the Lord 
throughout your generation ; ye shall keep it a 
feast by an ordinance forever." Again read 
Exodus 12:15: "Seven days shall ye eat un- 
leavened bread ; even the first day ye shall put 
away leaven out of your houses, for whosoever 
eateth leavened bread from the first day until 
the seventh day, that soul shall be cast from 



THE LORD'S SUPPER. 



11 



Israel." Again read Exodus 12: 19. Again read 
Exodus 23: 15. Thus we see this law is very 
strict and binding. And now are we to think for a 
moment that the Lord Jesus Christ, our blessed 
Master, would shirk from this binding obligation ? 
Nay, verily. But, says one : " What bearing has 
this great array of Scripture on the Lord's 
Supper?" First, we wish to show the binding 
necessity under which the Saviour was placed to 
accomplish all things according to the laws under 
which he had to work. Now let us see what 
leaven is. Leaven is ferment working in the 
vegetable particles (See Webster). Every lexico- 
grapher which we have examined thus far gives 
the same or a like definition of this word. 

Keep this thought in view ; ferment is the 
property or principle which is prohibited all 
through this feast of the Passover. Now then, 
why the necessity of this evidence, because the 
first supper was instituted on the first day of the 
seven days of the Passover Feast (See Matthew 
26: 17). We read : " The first day of unleavened 
bread the disciples came to Jesus, saying unto 
him, Where wilt thou that we prepare for thee to 
eat the Passover?" Thus you see it was right in 
the beginning of this unleavened feast when this 
occurred. But why should it be at this particular 
time ? Because the Saviour, being a Divine per- 
son, consequently a pure and spotless being that 
could not be corrupted, and as David said this 
body should never see corruption, therefore an 



12 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



article to represent His body must be of the same 
kind, that which has never had any corruption, 
decay or putrefaction. Now then, the evidence is 
that fermentation is a process of decay or putrefac- 
tion. William Ritchie, a very noted author, in his 
book entitled Scripture Testimony Against Wine, 
makes a quotation from Dr. Liebig. Now keep 
these thoughts in mind, for they will have deep 
and lasting bearing on this subject all the way 
through. See Matthew 26: 18 : " And he said, Go 
into the city to such a man and say unto him, The 
Master saith, My time is at hand. I will keep 
the Passover at thy house with my disciples." 
And again see Mark 14: 12. We read : And the 
first day of nnleavened bread." See Luke 22: 7. 
Now, the Saviour being an obedient Jew, and 
being familiar with all the Jewish customs and 
usages, would not have left even the smallest 
thing pertaining to the law undone ; therefore he 
would not have used the fermented wine or leaven- 
ed bread to represent His blood and His broken 
body. Therefore Jesus sent His disciples out to 
find a Jew's house in order to have all things in 
proper shape to correctly celebrate this last feast 
of the expiring Jewish dispensation, at which time 
the Lord and Master, after celebrating this last 
Jewish feast without fermented wine or leavened 
bread, and without leaving the room in which they 
celebrated this feast, took the same unleavened 
bread which had been used in the feast service. 
Read Matthew 26: 26-29 : " Jesus took bread and 



THE LORD'S SUPPER. 



13 



blessed it and brake it, and gave it to the disciples 
and said, Take, eat, this is my body. And he 
took the cup and gave thanks and gave it to 
them saying, Drink ye all of it ; for this is my 
blood of the new testament, which is shed for 
many for the remission of sins. But I say unto 
you, I will not drink henceforth of this fruit of 
the vine until the day when I drink it new with 
you in my Father's kingdom." What more evi- 
dence do we need that the Lord Jesus never used 
the fermented wine at the supper or the leavened 
bread ? The wine he used was the new wine, the 
pure fruit of the vine, for the Lord would not have 
taken any fermented wine and say it represented 
his blood, or any leavened bread and say it repre- 
sented his body ; therefore it is a sin to take the 
fermented wine and put it upon the Lord's table 
and say it is a representation of the blood of 
Christ. It is not a representation of Christ's 
blood ; it is a representation of the saloon and 
the devil, for his name is in the saloon and all his 
followers go there. 

THE OBJECT OF THE LORD'S SUPPER. 

Now, why should Jesus take an unbroken loaf 
to show that his body was not broken, and why 
did he break the loaf? Because it was to show 
us that his body was broken for us on the cross, 
to show us that his church should consist of many 
members like as the loaf. A collection of many 
of the fine particles into one whole body, as 



14 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

Christ's body was on the cross — the church gath- 
ered together as one body or congregation. Now 
then, as to purity — as the body of Jesus Christ 
was pure, had never been corrupted by anything 
impure, and could never see corruption or decay, 
therefore the unleavened bread and the unferinent- 
ed wine are the only things that represent the 
Lord's broken body and shed blood. After they 
had partaken of the loaf the blessed Master took 
the cup and blessed it, and said, " Drink ye all 
of it. This is my blood shed for many ; as often as 
ye drink of this cup and eat of this loaf, ye do 
show forth my death till I come again." 

Now can the Lord's blood be represented by 
the fermented wine ? No. It cannot represent 
the Lord's blood. Did the Lord's blood ever 
send a soul to hell ? No. Then we must never 
put it upon the Lord's table. You are putting 
a stumbling-block in the way of your brother 
when you pass it to him. 

DANGER. 

The danger associated with the use of the fer- 
mented wine at the Lord's Supper is too great, 
if there was no other reason why we should not 
use it. First, let us examine God's Holy Word 
along this line. Turn to Romans 14: 13. It 
reads: "Let us not therefore judge one another 
any more, but judge this rather, that no man put 
a stumbling-block or an occasion to fall in his 
brother's way." And read Romans 14:15. It 



THE LORD'S SUPPER. 



15 



reads : " But if thy brother be grieved with thy 
meats, now walkest thou not charitably. Destroy 
not him with thy meats for whom Christ died." 
See 1 Cor. 8:9: " But take heed lest by any means 
this liberty of yours become a stumbling-block to 
them that are weak." Thus, you see, we should 
be very careful about using things to make our 
brother fall, and we must be very careful what 
we do. See Habakkuk 2:15. We read: "Woe 
unto him that giveth his neighbor drink, that 
puttest the bottle to him to make him drunken." 
Now then, he that passes the fermented wine to 
his brother, woe unto him ! The writer has seen 
cases where a man has been taken up out of the 
gutter and become a Christian, and after a year 
of sober life and a Christian worker in church 
work, has fallen by moving his church letter to 
another town where the fermented wine was pass- 
ed to him, and it brought his appetite back, and 
he died a drunkard. Who was to blame for it ? 
The church officers that put the cup to his lips 
and caused their brother to fall are responsible for 
his soul. We know of many cases where men 
and women have been brought into the church 
after leading a life of dissipation and degradation, 
and joined the church, and have lived a true 
Christian life for two years- — some three and four 
years — and never drank a drop of anything in- 
toxicating. In the town of C , in California, 

during a protracted meeting by Brother Gr— — , 
a young Brother H was converted and joined 



16 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



the church, and was a good, true Christian and 
church worker for three years. He got a job in 
the car-shops, and took his church-letter and put 
it into another town where he was going to live, 
and the first time the young man went to the 
Lord's Supper he sat by the writer, and when it 
was passed to him he said, " Oh, Brother D., I 
cannot take that. I was picked out of the gutter 
three years ago, and I was a drunkard ; but for 
three years Lhave not even smelt of any wine or 
anything intoxicating, and now I have taken that 
commuTncn wine, and it is fermented. Oh ! I am 
sorry I tasted it, for it makes my old appetite 
come back. I will have to pass it by in the future. 
Oh ! it is not right to have it on the table and call 
it a representation of the Lord's blood ! It is a 
sin, for it will make me a drunkard ! I cannot 
take it ! In the name of God, Brother D., why 
do the church members not get that fermented 
wine off and put the unfermented wine on the 
table ? " Then we used strong arguments and got 
it removed and the unfermented wine in its place, 
and our Brother H— — was all right for a year. 
Then he went South, and there he put in his 
church-letter from our church, and they had the 
fermented wine on the Lord's table. He was gone 
two years and came back a drunkard ! 

One more case, and we will close. Bro. McCash, 
who was preaching in Kansas, said to the writer 
one day, when our good sisters of the church were 
holding a picnic in the grove. He happened to go 



THE LORD'S SUPPER. 



17 



to the grove early, and when he came to the place 
where they were arranging the tables a brother 
came up to him and said, " Bro. McCash, I am 
glad to see you. I want to have a private con- 
versation with you." I said, " Come with me," 
and they walked out where no one could hear 
them talk. Then he turned to Brother McCash 
and said, " Can't we have something else in 
place of the fermented wine on the Lord's table 
for the Lord's Supper ? It makes me have such 
an awful feeling." Bro. McCash said, " I looked 
at him in utter astonishment, and said, ' What do 
you mean ? ' " Said he, " I am from the gutter. 
I have been an awful bad man, and have a ter- 
rible hankering for strong drink, and that fer- 
mented wine makes me want to drink again. 
Oh, it makes me feel just awful!" Said Bro. 
McCash, " Does unfermented wine make you have 
the same feeling?" "No, it does not affect me 
one bit more than pure water does." Bro. Mc- 
Cash told the writer that he looked at that 
man in utter astonishment, while thoughts like 
this ran through his mind : "What a revelation! 
Can it be possible that this is true? And how 
many more just such cases might be in the 
churches all over the world! Yes, and perhaps 
right here in the congregation where I am preach- 
ing, too. This brother I baptized, and he is a 
young man twenty-five years old ; can I have 
that temptation set before him? If I do, I am 
putting a stumbling-block in my brother's way. 

2 



18 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



"No, I cannot." Bro. McCash said he lost no 
time in having the change made, and there never 
was any fermented wine used there at the Lord's 
Supper again, and so many said to him, "If 
you had kept the fermented wine on the com- 
munion table I would have been a drunkard, for 
I did not dare to take it, and had to pass it by." 
Oh, think of this, dear brethren, and never put 
such a curse on the table of the Lord, and call 
it the Lord's blood. It is sending souls to hell. 
Christ died on the cross to save souls. His blood 
never sent a soul to perdition. It is wrong, dear 
brothers and sisters in Christ. I hope that by 
reading the forgoing pages you may get your eyes 
opened, and may see this matter in its true light. 



II. 



TARDY REPENTANCE . 

Some years since, there lived in the city of 
Philadelphia a very worthy gentleman by the 
the name of Grire. He was actively engaged in 
business, and was generally reputed to be quite 
wealthy, though there were those among his most 
intimate acquaintances who shook their heads 
ominously and whispered that his supposed capi- 
tal was fictitious, and that when his business 
came — as it must sooner or later — to be closed up 
by others than himself, it would be found that the 
expenses of living had absorbed all his profits, and 
that he was really worth nothing at all. He was, 
nevertheless, a man of the strictest integrity and 
uprightness, whose moral and social virtues com- 
manded the respect of all who knew him. His 
benevolence was proverbial, while the purity of 
his humble Christian character was conspicuous 
even in that city of staid mortals — the City of 
Brotherly Love. 

In his domestic relations this worthy man ap- 
peared to be peculiarly fortunate. In all that 
goes to make up the truly Christian character, in 
intelligence, wit, and real worth, his wife was the 

(19) 



20 CHURCH AND SUNDAY -SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

counterpart of himself ; while his two daughters — 
Grace and Weinona (ordinarily called Winnie) — 
were lovely almost beyond comparison, and were 
supposed to be endowed with all the good qualities 
of their excellent parents. And, so far as Grace 
was concerned, the supposition was fully realized 
"by the facts. Intelligent, refined, and possessed 
of an innate purity and nobleness of soul which 
would have scorned anything like deceit, or a dis- 
honorable action ; with a generous spirit which, 
conscious of no wrong within itself, suspected no 
wrong in others, she fully merited all the enco- 
miums which she received from all her friends. 

With her sister, however, the case was some- 
what different. Even as is the case in some of 
the inferior animals, those most beautiful and 
attractive to the eye are possessed of the fiercest, 
most untamable and treacherous natures ; so it 
was with Winnie. Though the equal, or, as con- 
sidered by many, the superior of her sister in the 
matter of mere personal beauty, never were two 
characters more completely contrasted. While 
Grace was the very personification of truth, open- 
ness and generosity, Winnie was selfish, schem- 
ing and deceitful to a degree. Stopping at 
nothing to accomplish her designs, and making 
everything subservient to the gratification of her 
own selfish aims and desires, she still had suffi- 
cient artfulness to conceal, even from her most 
intimate friends, these startling deformities of 
character — blemishes which were destined to work 



TARDY REPENTANCE. 



21 



a fearful amount of misery, not only to herself, 
but to others, as will appear in the course of this 
sketch. 

In the circle of acquaintance of the two sisters 
— so much alike in appearance, and yet really 
so diverse — were two brothers, named respectively 
Philip and George Sinclair. They were the sons 
of a gentleman who, after having conferred upon 
each a liberal education — the elder being design- 
ed for the practice of medicine, and the younger, 
of the law— had suddenly deceased, leaving them, 
his only heirs, in possession of an ample fortune 
— the profits of his life-long pursuit of an honor- 
able and upright business. But, though placed 
by his providence beyond the necessity of labor, 
the young men were not content to be mere drones 
in the human hive ; and, prompted by filial re- 
spect, as well as their own inclinations, each had 
pursued with assiduity the course marked out for 
him by his revered parent. And, at the time of 
our first acquaintance with them, each had com- 
menced the practice of his profession under the 
most flattering auspices. 

Philip and George Sinclair had first met the 
two sisters at the house of a mutual friend, and, 
like almost every one who was brought in con- 
tact with them, they were at once attracted by 
their beauty, grace and intelligence ; and further 
acquaintance, which the young men were not 
slow to prosecute, but confirmed their enchant- 
ment, and in a short time they became, not mere 



22 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



acquaintances, but intimate friends. Nay, more ; 
each of the brothers, though carefully concealing 
his feelings from the other, found sentiments of a 
warmer nature than friendship growing up in his 
heart, and soon the young doctor found himself 
deeply in love with the fair Grace, while George 
bestowed the affections of his heart upon her 
beautiful but unworthy sister ; and each resolved 
to spare no pains to win the object of his adora- 
tion. Nothing was said between them on the 
subject ; for, though they loved each other with 
all the fervor of fraternal affection, each felt a 
degree of reserve upon a subject of so much 
delicacy while the issue of their respective suits 
still remained in doubt. 

But " the course of true love never did run 
smooth ; " and though each of the brothers strove 
earnestly and assiduously to win the favor of his 
chosen mistress, each seemed doomed to disap- 
pointment, but for causes altogether different. 

While Grace really loved the young physician, 
who honored both himself and her in the bestow- 
al of his attentions and his love, she nevertheless 
refrained from any manifestations of that feeling, 
being unwilling to commit herself until she knew 
whether her parents would approve of his suit 
or not. She therefore contented herself with 
simply manifesting her kindly appreciation 
of his attentions, and still left matters in such 
a situation that she could withdraw at any 
time, if deemed best. 



TARDY REPENTANCE. 



23 



On the other hand, Winnie absolutely refused 
poor George's proposition, and declined to receive 
his attentions entirely. The reason was, that she 
had conceived a violent passion for his brother ; 
and though well aware of the state of her sister's 
feeling toward him, she had carefully concealed 
her own, and was at that moment, with character- 
istic treachery, plotting how she might supplant 
her sister, or, in other words, alienate the love 
which she knew existed between them, and 
win Philip to herself. Such treachery may seem 
incredible between two sisters reared as Grace and 
"Winnie had been, and who were all in all to each 
other, and on the part of the former it would have 
been simply impossible. But Winnie's selfish- 
ness was sufficient to over- ride every consideration 
of sisterly affection, and though she was well 
aware that in the course she had decided upon, 
the effect of her artifice and treachery would be 
to destroy her sister's happiness, perhaps forever, 
still she went on her way without faltering or 
hesitation. 

Her first step was to endeavor to convince 
Philip that Grace was really trifling with him. 
She well understood the motive by which her 
sister was prompted in her treatment of the young 
doctor's advances ; but, ignoring the motive en- 
tirely, she resolved to turn the fact to her own 
account, and make it subserve her own evil pur- 
poses. 

When she had peremptorily, and without as- 



24 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



signing any reason, rejected the suit of George- 
Sinclair, she insidiously dropped a remark which, 
apparently without design, though really as a 
part of her well-laid scheme, led him to suppose 
that her sister was in some way connected with 
his own rejection, and in the earnestness of his 
pursuit he at once set to work with Grace to ascer- 
tain, and if possible remove, the supposed obstruc- 
tion to the acomplishment of his wishes. This 
is what the artful girl had calculated upon ; and 
no sooner had George commenced visiting her 
sister for the purpose (of which she was well 
aware) before mentioned, than she sought an 
early opportunity to communicate with his 
brother. Fortune favored her in her unholy pur- 
pose, and it was not long till an occasion present- 
ed itself. 

One evening, when George and Grace were in 
the parlor, the door-bell rang, and Dr. Sinclair 
was announced. Winnie met him in the hall, and 
before he had asked for any one, said, playfully : 

" Oh ! doctor ; you are too late. George is 
before you this evening, and is at this moment 
with Grace in the parlor." 

" What ! " exclaimed he ; " do you mean to tell 
me that my brother George visits Miss Grace, and 
that she receives him privately ? " 

" Why, yes," replied the wily girl, with well- 
concealed joy, for she saw that his jealous anger 
was being aroused ; " is there anything strange in. 
that?" 



TARDY REPENTANCE. 



25 



"What do you mean ? " he demanded, in husky 
tones ; for he fancied that in this circumstance he 
saw the reason of Grace's coldness toward him- 
self, and with it the death-blow to all his hopes. 

"Nothing at all," she replied coolly, "only that 
your brother is in the habit of visiting my sister. 
I supposed, of course, you knew it, or I should 
not have mentioned it, and now only regret having 
done so. Believe, me, doctor, I had no thought 
of my little jest producing so much emotion. Par- 
don my thoughtlessness; will you not?" she con- 
tinued with apparent unconcern. 

" Your thoughtlessness, as you term it," replied 
he, with emotion, "has, in this instance, been of 
inestimable service to me. I now fully under- 
stand what I never did before. I only ask that 
you will allow me to see, with my own eyes, the 
proof of the treachery you have mentioned." 

" Pardon me, doctor," said she ; but I am not 
aware that I have spoken of any treachery. I 
certainly did not intend to do so. I only spoke 
of George's visits here because I supposed you 
were all the time aware of the intimacy between 
them " 

" Well, call it what you will, only let me see 
them," he replied, almost impatiently. 

" They are in the parlor ; you know where that 
is. But, doctor, I am sorry I spoke as I did, and 
beg of you not to make any trouble on account 
of my thoughtlessness ; " and so saying she glided 
into the sitting-room, there to exult over the 



26 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



probable success of the implied falsehood she had 
just told; for she was convinced from his manner 
that the result would be a total rupture between 
the doctor and her sister. And she was not dis- 
appointed. She knew too well the impulsive 
disposition of him with whose feelings she had 
just been playing. Hastening to the parlor, he 
threw open the door without knocking, and just 
opposite him were Grace and his brother, seated 
side-by-side upon a sofa, their hands clasped, and 
evidently very much interested in whatever had 
been the subject of conversation before his abrupt 
interruption. The truth was, they had just been 
speaking of George's rejection by Winnie, and 
Grace was assuring him of her sympathy, and 
trying to comfort him with hopes of success in the 
future. But, to his jaundiced eyes, the position 
they occupied was only that of affianced lovers ; 
and in an instant his jealous rage burst forth. 
Advancing impetuously to the center of the room, 
he exclaimed, angrily : 

" So, this is the reason you reject my suit ; in- 
stead of the fear of offending your parents, it is 
the fear of displeasing a more favored lover which 
defeats me. I thank you for your truthfulness, 
and am especially thankful that I discovered your 
treachery before it was too late." 

Grace's pride, in turn, was roused by the 
laaughty and imperious tone of this address ; for 
she possessed a spirit as noble and exalted as his 
own, and this unjust accusation aroused it in all 



TARDY REPENTANCE. 27 

its force. Rising to her feet, she replied, indig- 
nantly : 

"By what right, sir, you presume to address 
such language to me, I am unable to guess. Do 
you think that because I have tolerated your 
visits it gives you a right to come here and insult 
me ? I desire you to leave this room until you 
can control yourself sufficiently to treat a lady as 
a gentleman should." 

" Tolerated my visits ! " he replied, fiercely. 
" Yes, that is the word, and I was fool enough to 
believe you when you said they alforded you 
pleasure." 

" Will you go, sir ? " she asked, with freezing 
hauteur. "In the mood you are now in, your 
presence is annoying to me." 

Convinced, by her manner, that his suspicions 
were correct, he turned, without a word, and left 
the house. 

George would have followed him and explained 
the true position of affairs, but Grace would not 
permit it. Her angry feelings had been aroused 
by the incident, and she would not allow any- 
thing that looked like cringing or begging on. her 
part. So he went his way in blind rage, and the 
breach between them was complete. 

For a long time she and George talked over the 
strange affair ; and, when he finally left her and 
returned to his home, he was surprised to find 
that his brother had not been there. Nor did he 
come during the entire night or the next day. 



28 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

The next day George received a letter from him y 
post-marked New York, and conveying the start- 
ling intelligence that he had that day sailed, in 
a packet-ship, bound for the East Indies. The 
letter was written on ship-board, but contained no 
intimation of the name of the vessel or of the 
port to which she was bound. And thus, for the 
present, all trace of him was lost. 

George and Grace both understood too well the 
cause of Philip Sinclair's sudden departure ; and 
many and bitter were the false self-accusations in 
which they indulged ; for, though fully conscious 
that no wrong had been intended or done by 
either of them, they were still aware that he sup- 
posed otherwise, and to them alone he ascribed 
his sudden exile. But so far were they from sus- 
pecting Winnie of any agency in the matter, that 
they, and especially Grace, conversed freely with 
her upon the subject, and to her repeated the self- 
blame they had so often expressed to each other. 

It might be supposed by the reader that she r 
knowing the perfidious part she had played in the 
affair, would have been so conscience-smitten at 
the effects of her treachery as to have confessed 
all ; but not so. She had set out to separate two 
loving hearts, for the purpose of accomplishing 
her own selfish ends, and, to a certain extent, 
she had succeeded. But her exultation was short- 
lived. In the moment of her triumph she found 
that she had over-reached herself ; and when she 
found that, in addition to detaching him from her 



TARDY REPENTANCE. 



29 



sister, she had driven him far beyond her own 
reach, her joy was turned into vindictive anger; 
and this was now the predominating sentiment 
of her heart. And this was one motive which 
induced her to keep silent. 

It must be confessed, however, that she felt 
some slight twinges of conscience when, as weeks 
passed away and grew into months, and even 
years, and still no tidings from the wanderer, she 
saw her sister's cheek lose its bloom and her eyes 
grow lusterless, while her languid step and list- 
less movements betrayed too plainly the effect of 
the hidden grief which was gnawing at her vitals. 
But still her conscientious convictions and her 
moral courage were not sufficient to induce her 
to do right by confessing the great wrong she 
had done. Thus it ever is with frail humanity. 
Having once embarked in a career of wrong, we 
are driven onward, by the force of evil, to commit 
other wrongs, and prevented from confessing and 
thereby righting the wrong already done. And 
so one crime produces another, until the whole 
nature is buried beneath a load of guilt too heavy 
to be removed by any agency short of the power 
of heavenly grace. 

About a year after Dr. Sinclair's departure, the 
father of our two heroines sickened and died ; and 
then an examination of his pecuniary affairs 
showed that those who had predicted that nothing 
would be left for his family were correct in their 
suppositions. The wife and mother soon followed 



30 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

the husband and father ; and thus these two girls, 
so tenderly reared, were left without protector or 
guide, and without means, to battle alone with the 
stern realities of life. 

At this time George Sinclair, who seems to have 
truly loved the false-hearted Winnie, and never 
to have suspected the existence of the deceit and 
treachery which formed so large a part of her 
character, renewed the offer of his hand and 
heart. And she, despairing of ever securing the 
fruits of her artifice, appalled at the prospect of 
earning her livelihood by the somewhat precarious 
returns of a teacher's labor — the only avocation 
for which she was fitted — and knowing that he 
could support her in luxury and ease, decided to 
accept the offer ; and so, though fully realizing 
that she did not love him, she laid her hand in 
his and promised to be to him a true and faithful 
wife; and to her credit be it recorded that, for 
the few years they lived together, this promise 
was sacredly kept. 

Soon afterward they were married, and Grace 
went to live with them. Winnie would gladly 
have avoided this arrangement had it been possi- 
ble ; for her melancholy demeanor and pale 
features were to her a standing reminder and re- 
proach for the crime she had committed against 
her. But Grace was alone in the wide, wide 
world, and no other provision could be made for 
her. To leave her alone would not do, and so 
she became a member of Mr. Sinclair's family. 



TARDY REPENTANCE. 



31 



But Winnie's married life was destined to be 
a brief one. Her mother had possessed but a 
feeble constitution, and from her Winnie had 
inherited the seeds of the fell disease, consump- 
tion. She had been married barely three years 
when it became apparent that the destroyer had 
fastened upon her lungs, and that the web of 
her life must soon be wound to a close. She 
might live, her physician said, some months, per- 
haps a year ; but they could assure her nothing 
save that sooner or later the disease must prove 
fatal. And with the certainty of the near ap- 
proach of death came the most fearful remorse for 
her crime against her sister ; but still shame and 
cowardice— the cowardice which prevents one 
from doing right for fear of the gibes and sneers 
of the world — sealed her lips ; and so she smother- 
ed the painful secret in her breast, and, though 
suffering the keenest anguish, refused to speak. 

During all this time nothing had been heard 
from the wanderer in a strange land. But one 
evening George came home with his face radiant 
with joy. 

" What is the matter, that you look so 
pleased ? " asked Grace, as soon as he entered the 
room, rising from the low ottoman upon which 
she was seated, by the side of the invalid's couch. 

" I have at last heard from Philip," replied he ; 
" I received a letter from him to-day." 

" Where is he ? " asked both the ladies in a 
breath. 



32 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

" At Singapore, in British East India, at pres- 
ent ; but has some idea of returning home if he 
gets a satisfactory answer. He wants to know if 
some young lady of his acquaintance is still liv- 
ing and unmaried, and intimates that the answer 
to this will have some influence upon his deter- 
mination. But, Winnie — Grace — what is the mat- 
ter with you both ? " he asked, abruptly ; for 
Winnie had half raised herself in bed, while 
Grace, with her usually pallid complexion "blush- 
ing rosy red," was flying from the room. She 
stopped not to respond, but his wife answered, 
earnestly. 

" Oh ! George ; send for him to come at once, 
and pray that my life may be spared till his 
arrival. I cannot die till I have seen him, and 
told him all." 

" All of what ? " asked her husband, in utter 
amazement at the intense emotion she displayed. 

"I cannot tell you now," she murmured; "but 
before I die you shall know all. Only write to 
him to come." 

"I certainly will," said he; "but a long time 
must elapse ere he can arrive." 

" Yes, but I shall not die till he comes." 

"Well, say no more now, my dear," said the 
husband, kindly ; "your wishes shall be complied 
with." 

The next day a letter was dispatched to the 
fugitive, urging his immediate return to the land 
of his nativity, and then began a long and weary 



TARDY REPENTANCE. 



33 



season of waiting and watching. But, though. 
Winnie gradually failed, though day by day her 
form grew more and more emaciated and her 
voice more and more feeble, though her physicians 
wisely shook their heads and predicted that she 
could live but a few weeks at furthest, she still 
expressed the utmost faith that she should live 
till his return. And certainly the extreme tenacity 
with which she clung to life seemed to fully 
justify her faith. 

The months rolled away, and at last came a 
telegram from Philip Sinclair, saying that he had 
landed in New York, and would reach Phila- 
delphia the next morning at 'nine o'clock. When 
this was communicated to the invalid, she re- 
marked, in a voice scarcely above a whisper, 
while a gleam of earnest, sincere gratification shot 
athwart her wan features : " Said I not that I 
should survive till he came ? " 

The next morning she was unusually feeble, 
and, at her request, recourse was had to stimu- 
lants to buoy up her sinking vitality, while her 
agitation, lest she should die before his arrival, 
was extreme. 

" You must not let me die before nine o'clock," 
she repeatedly said to her weeping husband and 
sister, who were her only attendants. 

As the hands of the clock pointed the hour of 
nine, a hackney coach stopped before the door, 
and a gentleman of foreign appearance leaped 

out, ascended the steps and rang the bell. In a 

3 



34 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



moment the returned wanderer was warmly greet- 
ed by his brother, and the next he was ushered 
into the sick room. 

" Come close to me, Philip Sinclair," said the 
dying woman, in tones of unnatural strength ; 44 I 
said I would live till you came, and I have." 

A pressure of her thin hand by the returned 
brother was the only reply. 

" Where is Grace? " 

" Here I am, dear sister," said the weeping girl. 

" Come close to me ; my sight is failing, and I 
cannot see you. And you, my husband, support 
me in your arms." 

And then, placing Grace's hand in that of her 
lover, she told the sad story of her crime, not spar- 
ing or extenuating herself in the least ; told how 
she had repented of her sin, and how her anxiety to 
repair the wrong she had done had kept her alive 
till the present moment. Her hearers listened in 
silent amazement, and when the melancholy story 
was completed, and she implored their forgive- 
ness, asseverating that she could not die without 
it, they hastened to accord it freely and fully. 

" Say it again," cried she ; 44 it is sweetest music 
to my ears." 

44 We do," replied they in a breath, " freely for- 
give you, even as we hope to be forgiven at the 
last day." 

44 Thank God ! " she cried in ecstatic tones ; 44 1 
am forgiven, and can now die in peace. His for- 
giveness, I know, the Father will not withhold. I 



TARDY REPENTANCE. 35 

can now meet His face without fear ; " and the 
next moment her spirit took its flight to try the 
dread realities of eternity — dread only to those 
whose names are not written in the Lamb's Book 
of Life. 

u It is over," said Philip, solemnly. " Let us 
pray." And kneeling, with Grace's hand still 
clasped in his, he poured forth an eloquent invo- 
cation to the God of heaven in behalf of the de- 
parted, and earnestly implored Him not to remem- 
ber against her her great wrong. 

Winnie was buried in one of the loveliest nooks 
of the cemetery at Philadelphia, and, a few days 
after the funeral, there was a quiet wedding, and 
the two faithful hearts, so Jong sundered by 
falsehood and treachery, were united in bonds 
indissoluble save by the hand of Death. Let us 
hope that He who is all love, and who "willeth 
not that any should perish," will judge mercifully 
the erring one by whose great wrong that long and 
paidful separation had been effected, even though 
her repentance came at the eleventh hour. 

Reader, this is a true story, only the names are 
changed, and the locality is changed. The author 
was a witness at the dying bed of Winnie. 



III. 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

" Say, boy, where is Green Street — do you 
know? I hain't been in this city long enough 
to learn the streets yet. I know 'em all in Louis- 
ville ; but here, things is kind o' strange yet." 

These words were addressed to a bright, neatly- 
dressed boy of twelve or thereabouts, on one of 
the streets of Cincinnati, by a boy some three or 
four years older. The latter was clad in garments 
whose ragged, unkept appearance, in connection 
with the swaggering air of the wearer, sufficiently 
indicated him as one of the youthful loafers — 
young in years, but old in crime and misery — 
who infest, in such alarming numbers, the streets 
of all our large cities. 

"Yes, sir," replied the lad, civilly — his tones 
and manner forming a strange contrast to those 
of his interrogator. " I am going to Green Street, 
and shall be pleased to show you the way." 

" Well, now, that's good," said the boy, walk- 
ing along beside the other; "what's yername?" 

" Alfred Murray, sir." 

"Mine's Tom Pendleton. But what makes you 
say ' sir ' to me all the time ? " asked the boy. 

(36) 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



37 



" Because my parents and teachers have told 
me it was right to say 1 sir,' or £ madam,' to any 
person older than myself," said Alfred ; " and you 
are certainly older than I am," he added, hesitat- 
ingly. 

" Of course I am, but then, I ain't no ' sir,' " said 
the boy, rudely; "I am just Tom. But be you 
goin' to see the dog-fight ? " 

" To see the dog-fight ! " said Alfred, slowly 
and wonderingly ; " what do you mean ? " 

"Why, don't you know?" said Tom. "They 
say there's goin' to be a grand dog-fight up some- 
where on Green Street. They say Jim Bolster's 
big bull-dog is matched agin some dog from St. 
Louis, for five hundred dollars a side, and the 
fight is to come off to-day. I don't know nothin' 
about t'other dog, but I'll just bet half-a-dollar — 
all the money I've got — that Jim Bolster's bull '11 
chaw him up. Now, see here, Alf., I kind o' like 
you. Come and go along with me. There'll be 
lots o' fun there — there always is. Four or five 
fights, mebbe ; and mebbe," said he, coming close 
up to Alfred, and speaking in a confidential tone, 
" we'll get a drink or two, or a chance to gudgeon 
some old fellow out of three or four dollars ; you 
understand ? Come, I'll go snucks with you ; 
what say ? " 

" What ! " said Alfred, in surprise ; " do you go 
to such places ? and on the Lord's day, too ? " 
" Why, yes," said the boy, a little ashamed of 



38 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

the reproof conveyed by Alfred's question ; " don't 
you ? " 

" No ; I never was at such a place in my life," 
said Alfred, " and I wish you would not go either. 
Come with me ; I am going to Sunday-school up 
on Green Street, and I wish you would go with 
me. I am sure it will do you more good than to 
go and see the fight." 

"Sunday-school!" What do they do there?" 
asked the boy. 

Alfred looked at him in amazement. 

"Have you never been at Sunday-school?" he 
asked. 

" No, never." 

" Where do you live ? " 

" Oh ! nowhere in particular," said Tom, indif- 
ferently. " I used to stay in Louisville, but 
finally made up my mind to come here, and, as I 
had no money to pay my fare, I just slipped onto 
a boat that stopped there in the night, and stole 
my ride up here. That was about two weeks ago; 
sence then I've just been staying wherever I could 
get a chance. I slept in an empty freight-car 
sometimes, and sometimes in a cellar, and so on. 
Yesterday an old woman hired me to split some 
wood for her, and gave me my supper, lodgin' and 
breakfast, and half-a-dollar in silver. But it's a 
pooty hard way to live, I tell you." 

" I should think so," said Alfred, his tones full 
of sympathy for his new-found friend; " why don't 
you go to your father and mother ? " 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



39 



" I hain't got no father and mother," said the 
Tboy, sadly, "and nobody cares for me. Now, I 
s'pose you've got a father and mother, and a nice 
home, and all that ? " 

" Yes," replied Alfred, " I live with my father 
and mother, a short distance from where we first 
met ; and they are very kind to me." 

"Well," said the boy, fairly blubbering, 
" mebbe if I had a father and mother I'd get along 
better; but I hain't, and nobody was ever kind to 
me. I've just been cussed and kicked around all 
my life, and it don't make much difference what 
I do." 

" Well, go with me to Sunday-school to-day," 
said Alfred, evidently pitying his distress, " and 
then you shall go home with me, and I guess my 
father will do something for you. He is very 
good and kind." 

"But what do you do at Sunday-school?" said 
Tom, in a hesitating manner. 

" Oh ! we read, and sing, and pray, and talk 
.about Jesus, and learn to be good," said he. 

"Why, that's a kind of a church, ain't it? I 
went to church once, and that's the way they done 
there." 

" Why, yes," said Alfred, not really able to 
explain the difference between this and the actual 
regular services of the sanctuary. 

" And you think that afterwards, you can get 
me a place to stay ? " 

" Yes, I think so." 



40 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

" And be treated kindly, and have as good 
clothes as you've got?" said he, his eyes spark- 
ling with animation. 

" I think so." 

"By hokey, Alf, I'll go with you, and the dog- 
fight may go to thunder ; and if you do get me a 
good place to stay, I'll be the best friend you ever 
had," said the boy, forgetting somewhat of the 
proprieties — if, indeed, he ever knew them — in 
his enthusiasm. 

" That's right," said Alfred ; " only I wish you 
would not use any more of those bad words." 

They soon reached the church, and when Tom 
Pendleton saw the well-dressed and happy chil- 
dren flocking in at the doorway — for it was just 
school time — he almost repented of his promise,, 
for he was not without a certain degree of pride,, 
and he could not avoid contrasting his own soiled 
and shabby garments with those of the children 
around him. But Alfred plead with him so earn- 
estly and kindly that he at last overcame his 
scruples, and entered, for the second time in his 
life, the house of the Lord. 

Alfred led him to his own seat and introduced 
him to Mr. Irving, his teacher, telling him Tom 
had never been at a Sunday-school before, and 
briefly recounting the incidents of their meeting. 

Mr. Irving was one of those kind and conscien- 
tious teachers who, like the immortal founder of 
Sunday-schools, have their whole heart in the 
work before them ; possessed of a kind and. 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



41 



genial spirit which irresistibly attracted one, 
and with a most excellent and discriminating 
knowledge of human nature. He soon found the 
key to Master Tom's better nature hidden be- 
neath the hard crust which familiarity with 
crime had formed there, and when he had ap- 
plied it, he found beneath that rough exterior 
a mine of rich gems. For Tom had a naturally 
strong and vigorous mind, and constant contact 
with the world in its rougher phases had given 
him keen preceptions and clear ideas, which, 
though strangely perverted by past evil associa- 
tions, promised, when properly controlled and 
directed, to lead to the happiest results. Under 
Mr. Irving's kind and skillful management, a con- 
siderable interest in the school was awakened in 
the hitherto calloused heart of the boy, and when 
Tom Pendleton left the church, in company with 
Alfred, it was with a promise to return on the 
next Sunday, and to become a regular attend- 
ant upon the Green Street school. 

He returned home with Alfred after school, 
and was introduced to his parents. Mr. Murray's 
character had not been at all exaggerated by 
Alfred, in his first interview with the boy, for 
he was one of those large-hearted Christian 
men who, with ample means to accomplish an 
untold amount of good in the world, united the 
necessary will and disposition. 

When he had heard Alfred's account of the 
events of the day, he called Tom into the library 



42 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

and questioned him closely concerning his past 
history. There was enough in it that was sim- 
ply shocking, related as it was by one so young ; 
but he confessed so frankly all his faults, and 
evinced such penitence for them, that Mr. Murray 
was convinced of the sincerity of his desire to 
reform, and felt the most unbounded confidence 
in his expressed determination " to make a man 
of himself." The result of the interview was, 
that he was assigned a bed in the house, until, 
as Mr. Murray expressed it, he would " see 
what could be done for him." 

The next day Mr. Murray called upon a friend 
in the retail grocery trade, who was under some 
obligations to him, and whom he knew to be in 
want of a messenger, and soon made arrange- 
ments with him to take Tom in that capacity. 
He imparted to Mr. Saunders, the grocer, just 
enough of the boy's history to let him know the ne- 
cessity of watching him for a time, until his habits 
were ascertained ; then he returned home, and, 
furnishing Tom with a suit of clothes appropriate 
to the position he was to occupy, admonished 
him kindly as to the course he should pursue, 
and then went and introduced him to his em- 
ployer. As for Tom, he was overjoyed at the 
change in his fortunes, so sudden and unlooked 
for that it seemed almost miraculous, and many 
and fervent were the promises of good conduct 
which he made. 

Before the close of the week, Mr. Saunders was 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



48 



in the bank of which Mr. Murray was cashier, 
transacting some business. As he was about 
leaving, he turned to Mr. Murray and said : 

"By the way, Murray, you remember that mes- 
senger boy you brought me on Monday ? " 

" I do," replied Mr. Murray ; " what of him ? " 

" I am under a thousand obligations to you for 
bringing him to me," replied Saunders, warmly. 
"His aptitude and correctness are remarkable, 
considering his limited education and total inex- 
perience ; and then his anxiety to learn all about 
his duties is astonishing. If he only keeps on as 
he has begun, he will make one of the best busi- 
ness men of this or any other city." 

" I am glad to hear so good an account of him," 
said Mr. Murray. " He is a sort of protege of 
Alfred's, and for that reason, if for no other, I am 
anxious he should succeed." 

" No fear but he will, sir." 

" Do you think him honest, reliable ? " 

"I have no doubt of it. I have tested him in 
various ways, which have convinced me fully. Of 
course, however, I would not relax any of my 
vigilance for some time to come yet," said 
Saunders, as he left the bank. 

The next Sunday Tom was on hand in due 
season for the school, and expressed himself as 
much pleased with his employer as Mr. Saunders 
was with him. He assured Mr. Murray and Alfred 
that he had never been treated with such kind- 
ness before, and renewed his promises of good 



44 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

behavior for all time to come ; and words hardly 
sufficed him to express his gratitude to the kind 
friends through whose instrumentality this change 
had been effected ; while they, on their part, were 
scarcely less pleased with the result of the experi- 
ment than he. 

Bat it was when his first month was ended, and 
his stipulated salary of twenty- five dollars — more 
money than he had ever had in his life — was 
paid to him, that his joy and satisfaction reached 
its climax. He felt that he really was worth 
something in the world, and was no longer the 
worthless vagabond he had previously been. A 
short time he stood fingering and counting over 
the crisp, new bank-notes ; and then, looking up 
at Mr. Saunders, said : 

" Please, sir ; can I be out for an hour ? " 

"Why, Thomas," said he kindly; " what do you 
want to do ? " 

" I want to go and see Mr. Murray." 

" Certainly," said Mr. Saunders. " And, 
Thomas, you have been so faithful all this month 
that you may have a holiday for the rest of the 
day. You need not come back till to-morrow 
morning." 

"Oh! sir, thank you," said Thomas gratefully, 
as he walked rapidly away. 

Hastening to Mr. Murray's bank, he spread out 
his treasures on the counter before that gentleman. 

"What is all this?" said Mr. Murray, smiling 
at his eager and excited manner. 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



45 



" That is my first month's pay, sir ; almost the 
first money I ever earned in my life." 

" And what are you going to do with it ? " he 
asked. 

" I want you to take it and keep it," said the 
boy, seriously, " and when I have got enough I 
am going to school. I have never had a chance to 
learn anything," he added, sadly. 

" That is the very best use you can put your 
wages to," said Mr. Murray, in a pleased tone, as 
he busied himself making out a certificate of de- 
posit of the boy's little fortune. 

"What is this, sir?" he asked, as Mr. Murray 
banded it to him. 

" That is a receipt for this money," replied Mr. 
Murray. "When you want it, all you have to 
do is to present that certificate here, and the money 
will be paid to you." 

" But what if I lose it, or some one steals it ? " 

" We keep an account of it here, and you can 
get your money by swearing to the circumstances 
of the loss," replied Mr. Murray. 

Satisfied with the explanation, the boy took the 
certificate and left the bank ; but, ever and anon, 
as he walked down the street, he drew out the 
talismanic paper and pondered it long and 
curiously. Poor fellow! He could not read it; 
and yet, as he gazed upon it, an Astor or a Girard 
might have envied him the imaginary wealth he 
possessed. He had money in the bank, earned by 
bis own honest toil ; he was respected and trusted, 



46 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

and lie felt more proud and wealthy than a mon- 
arch on his throne. 

Such was the result, upon this poor boy, of 
attendance upon the Sunday-school, aided by 
the kind Christian efforts of the friends who had 
been attracted to his side by that very attend- 
ance. Hitherto he had lived an aimless, pur- 
poseless life ; his highest enjoyment consisted in 
some brutal or sensual pleasure, like that to 
which he was upon his way when he first met 
Alfred Murray ; no thought of the future crossed 
his mind ; he lived for the present alone, and so 
long as his hunger was satisfied, and himself 
shielded from the cold, he was contented. But 
now, higher and noblier aims and hopes were 
awakened within him ; he began to realize that he 
was not entirely useless to the world ; a burning 
desire for knowledge took possession of his soul, 
and, with an earnest and patient zeal, he strode 
forward in the path opening before him, and 
which promised such rich results in the future. 

When Thomas had been a year with his em- 
ployer his funds, in the hands of Mr. Murray, had 
increased to something over three hundred dollars ; 
for, as he became familiar with the duties requir- 
ed of him, Mr. Saunders had increased his wages, 
while his economical habits, cultivated, almost to 
the degree of parsimoniousness, to promote the end 
he had in view, had made very little inroads upon 
his earnings ; and with the hearty concurrence 
of Mr. Murray, to whom he looked for advice 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



47 



in every step of his career, he left the employ- 
ment of Mr. Saunders and entered school. But 
he was, by no means, the ignorant, awkward 
strippling he was when first introduced to the 
reader. Under the tutelage of Alfred and Mr. 
Murray, both of whom had taken great pains 
in imparting such instruction as time and op- 
portunity would permit, he had made consider- 
able progress in the rudiments of an education, 
while, with the consciousness that he was worth 
something in the great hive of human industry, 
had come a more elastic and genteel carriage. 
He walked no more with the peculiar shuffling, 
slouching gait characteristic of your true loafer, 
and by which he had been distinguished at the 
time of his first meeting with Alfred; he walked 
with a quick, firm, business-like tread ; and no 
one who saw him, as he hastened over his accus- 
tomed rounds, would have suspected that one 
short twelvemonth before he was the worthless 
vagabond he really was. 

The Sunday-school — that first great agent in 
his reformation, as well as in that of thousands of 
others — had by no means been neglected during 
this time. His attendance there had been constant, 
and Mr. Irving had come to look upon him as one 
of his most punctual, orderly, and promising 
pupils. 

But we can not follow him step by step through- 
out the whole of his career. To attend him in his 
steady upward and onward course ; to recount his 



48 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

rapid mastery of the most abstruse sciences ; to 
particularize of the golden opinions he won from 
all ranks and classes with whom he was brought 
in contact, would far exceed the limits prescribed 
for this sketch. 

We will pass over a space of eight or ten years, 
and then take a walk down one of the principal 
business streets of Cincinnati. We will turn into 
this neat, well-arranged furniture store, near the 
scene laid in the opening of this sketch. Who is 
the active, genteel-looking proprietor coming for- 
ward to meet us as we enter ? His countenance 
seems familiar, and upon close observation we find 
that it is really none other than our old friend, 
Thomas Pendleton. He and his partner, Alfred 
Murray, are conducting a thriving and profitable 
business, and are known far and wide for their 
honorable and upright dealing. 

Pendleton is married to a beautiful and charm- 
ing girl, and resides in a fine, well-furnished brick 
house, in one of the loveliest suburbs of the city ; 
while his partner is still a bachelor, but, if report 
speaks truly, will not be so for long to come. 

But though they are rapidly accumulating 
wealth, its pursuit has by no means hardened 
their hearts or blunted their devotion to the service 
of their Maker. Both are consistent members of 
the church which was the scene of the commence- 
ment of their acquaintance, and, both in their 
daily walk and conversation, faithfully exemplify 
the hope they have professed. 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 



49 



And here we take our leave of the boy whom we 
first met on the high road to ruin, but whom, 
through the influence of the Sunday-school, we 
have seen turned from the broad road into the 
straight and narrow way that leadeth unto eternal 
life, while temporal blessings in profusion have 
been showered upon him by the Great King whose 
servant he is ; and, as his songs of thankfulness 
daily arise to Him who has done all this won- 
drous work, we more fully than ever appreciate 
the words of the poet : 

• 'Angels sweetly sing in glory, 

Songs of praise to God their King ; 
But the song of blest redemption, 
Man, redeemed, alone can sing. ' ' 

4 



IV. 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 

How grand and queenly she looked as, with her 
tall and stately figure robed in vestments whose 
sable hue set off to the best possible advantage 
the wondrous clearness and transparency of her 
complexion, devoid of any ornaments save those 
which nature had conferred in such profusion upon 
her, and a single rose of purest white twined amid 
her wealth of amber curls, she yet stood the ob- 
served of all observers among the crowd of girls 
who, clad in richest robes, and bespangled with 
sparkling jewels, filled the rooms of Madam Be 
Champe's boarding-school ; for it was the evening 
of commencement-day at that institution, so long 
and generally known throughout the Eastern 
States as one of the very best of its class ; and 
the prizes were, on this evening, to be awarded to 
the bevy of fair ones who had that day undergone 
examination for the purpose of graduating. But, 
as has been said, amid them all, not one attracted 
the attention of the crowd, who were listening 
with wrapt interest to the exercises, so much as 
our heroine. And, " Who is she ?" was the ques- 
tion asked by scores of lips as she performed her 

(50) 



THE BROKEN HEARTED. 



51 



part in the exercises with a grace and dignity im- 
possible to describe. 

This oft-repeated interrogatory was addressed 
by a young man, named Harvey Lewis, to a gen- 
tleman of middle age seated at his side, and 
watching the proceedings with more than ordinary 
interest. And, as this latter gentleman is des- 
tined to play a very important part in our simple 
narrative, a more extended notice of him may not 
be amiss. 

Oliver Childs was a Southern planter, aged 
about forty years, and resided at Memphis, Ten- 
nessee. He was a fine, handsome-appearing man, 
well proportioned, and had that indescribable air 
which bespeaks at once the gentleman of wealth 
and culture, whose whole life has been passed 
amid the best and most refined society. He had 
been a widower for nearly two years, and had, for 
some time been on the lookout for some one to 
whom, in the capacity of governess, he would be 
willing to intrust the care and education of his 
two motherless daughters ; and, though he had 
had many applications for the situation, it still 
remained vacant ; for Mr. Childs was extremely 
cautious — nay, almost fastidious — in regard to the 
selection of an instructor for his children, and no 
one had as yet appeared who had entirely filled 
the measure of his demands. 

Some six months or more prior to the opening of 
our tale, having heard of the very high character 
of Madam DeChampe's school, he had addressed 



52 CHURCH AND SUNDAY -SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



a letter of inquiry to that lady upon the subject, 
and had received from her a reply of such a 
nature as induced him to come at once to the East. 
He had here been introduced to our heroine, and 
the opinion formed of her accomplishments during 
that first interview, and the very high character 
awarded her by Madam DeChampe, had induced 
the belief that she was just the person for, the 
place he had so long vainly tried to fill ; but noth- 
ing would induce her to leave school until she had 
graduated. She had set her heart upon the at- 
tainment of a thorough education, and, after hav- 
ing spent so much time in school, she would not 
consent to leave the race when the goal for which 
she had struggled was so near at hand, but agreed 
that if Mr. Childs would come for her at the time 
of her graduation, she would then become an in- 
mate of his house. With this he was forced to 
be content, and returned home to wait with 
patience until the time fixed by herself should 
have fully elapsed. 

It must be admitted, however, that after his re- 
turn home, Mr. Childs had regarded his fair em- 
ployee with feelings scarcely reconcilable with the 
relation she was about to assume to him. Her 
marvelous beauty of form and feature, and the 
grace and intelligence she had displayed during 
that first interview, had powerfully impressed him, 
and we are obliged to confess that he had at 
times even thought of releasing her from her con- 
tract to become the governess of his children, and 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



53 



asking her instead to become their second mother. 
Even in the one or two brief letters which had 
been exchanged between them, relative to the ter- 
mination of her pupilage, and the assumption of 
the situation of tutor, her grace, dignity and in- 
telligence had peeped forth to such an extent as 
to complete the conquest which had been begun at 
that first interview ; and Mr. Childs had now come 
on to attend the commencement exercises, fully 
resolved, if he could obtain her consent, to bear 
her to his own sunny Tennessee as his bride in- 
stead of his servant. 

" Who is she, Mr. Childs ?" said Harvey Lewis, 
as he saw a glance of recognition pass between 
his friend and the young lady who was the cyno- 
sure of all eyes. 

" She? Whom do you mean?" said Mr. Childs, 
with affected ignorance, although he knew full 
well to whom his friend referred. " There are so 
many beauties there that it is impossible to select 
any one who would make any particular impres- 
sion, I should think." 

" Whom do I mean ?" said Lewis, a little impa- 
tiently ; " why, of course, I mean none but the 
tall and splendid beauty with whom you ex- 
changed glances just now." 

" That ! Oh ! that is a poor orphan girl, whom, 
upon Madam DeChampe's recommendation, I en- 
gaged as a governness some six months since. 
She would not, however, consent to leave school 



54 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

until she graduated, and I am here now for the 
purpose of taking her to Memphis." 

" Come, Childs," said young Lewis, with an air 
of easy freedom which bespoke the intimate 
friend, as well as the somewhat fast man of the 
world, " that story won't do. What ! you tell me 
that that stately, magnificent-looking girl there is 
a poor governess ? Rather say she is some 
wealthy heiress who is destined to take the place 
of the deceased Mrs. Childs," and he looked mis- 
chievously at his friend. 

" It is all truth that I tell you," said Childs, a 
little coldly. " She is a poor girl, who was left 
with scarcely means to pay for the splendid edu- 
cation she has obtained, and upon which she is 
dependent for her future livelihood." 

"Well, all I have to say," replied young Lewis, 
" is, that, if she goes to your house as a govern- 
ess, it will not be long till she exchanges her 
position for that of mistress, if I am any judge of 
another's feelings ; eh, Childs ?" 

"I shall never seek to change her position 
there," said Childs, with a half smile and half 
sigh. u Why, she cannot be more than nineteen 
or twenty, while I am forty," said he. 

" 8 Faint heart never won fair lady,' you know," 
said Lewis ; " and you have my best wishes for 
success in the wooing which I see is about to be 
inaugurated. But you have not yet told me her 
name." 

" Her name is Clemmie St. Clair," said Mr. 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



55 



Childs. Her father was a distant relative of the 
General St. Clair who cut such a figure in the In- 
dian war of 1797 ; so you see she comes of a good 
family, and but for the alarming disparity in our 
ages, there might be some possibility of your pre- 
dictions being realized. But there's the rub." 

" Said I not truly, that you were in love with 
her?" said Lewis, laughing. "But what differ- 
ence does the disparity of ages make ? The 
wealth you possess will more than offset that." 

"But there is another objection," returned 
Childs ; " for I will not deny that I should be very 
proud to make her my wife. She is engaged, I am 
told, to a poor but very worthy young lawyer, by 
the name of Robert Moore. So let us say no more 
about it, if you please." 

" Very well. But who is that handsome bru- 
nette, with whom she appears on such intimate 
terms," said Lewis. 

" That is a Miss Mary Hollister, of whom, how- 
ever, I know nothing more than her name," re- 
turned his friend. 

" Next to Miss St. Clair," said Lewis, " I think 
she is the most handsome of Madam's pupils." 

" She is very lovely," replied Mr. Childs. " But 
hush ; Miss St. Clair is going to play," and so the 
conversation terminated. 

Mr. Childs watched her snowy fingers as they 
flew over the keys of the piano, and listened, in 
absolute entrancement to her music. He was pas- 
sionately fond of music — she was a most excellent 



56 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

performer ; and as he listened he half fancied he 
was hearkening to the angelic strains of that im- 
mortal choir who stand around the Eternal 
Throne. She sang, with exquisite taste and feel- 
ing, that beautiful little ballad : 

"I'm lonely since my mother died." 
And when it was ended, and the plaudits of the 
listeners greeted the fair musician, his captivity 
was complete and hopeless, and he fully resolved 
to lose no time in winning, if it were possible, the 
lovely singer. 

The exercises were closed, the prizes had been 
distributed, and the graduating class, with a select 
party of their friends, were assembled in Madam 
DeChampe's parlor, where music, mirth, and gay- 
ety were the order of the hour. To some, however, 
the occasion was fraught with saddened memories 
and painful reflections. The happy days, months, 
and in some cases years, which had been spent in 
the pleasant companionships of Madam De 
Champe's school were gone forever ; each was to 
pursue, henceforth, the path in life which fate had 
marked out for her, without the wise counsels of 
her who had been so long their guide, instructor, 
and faithful friend ; friendships, long-formed and 
warmly-cherished, were about to be severed, per- 
haps forever, and what wonder is it that, to those 
who realized this fact in all its force, this parting 
hour was full of sadness ? 

Of this class was Clemmie St. Clair. And as 
she reflected upon the loneliness of her lot in life, 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



57 



and, in the secret recesses of her own heart, con- 
trasted her situation with that of the friends and 
school-mates by whom she was surrounded, a sense 
of isolation welled up in her soul, and she felt 
almost inclined to murmur at the dispensations of 
that Providence by whom her lot had been or- 
dered. Other girls had home and friends, by 
whom they would be gladly welcomed and tender- 
ly cared for ; who would shield them from the 
storms and tempests of life, and by whose watch- 
ful, devotionate attention, the rough places of the 
highway would be made smooth — she was alone in 
the wide, wide world, and friendless ; to no one 
could she turn for succor or shelter ; no one cared 
whether she lived and was happy, or whether she 
suffered and died. True, she had some distant 
relatives somewhere, she scarcely knew where, but 
she had never had any communication or corre- 
spondence with them, and, whatever might befall 
her, she could never go to them. 

" And now," she said to her friend Mary Hollis- 
ter, as, seated in a quiet corner of the parlor, they 
were discoursing of their approaching separation, 
" the only one who cares what becomes of me is 
this Tennessee planter, six months ago a perfect 
stranger, and whose interest in me is measured 
precisely by his opinion of my ability to instruct 
his children. Should he find upon trial that my 
qualifications have been overrated, and that I am 
not able to properly care for the children of the 
departed Mrs. Childs, his interest will suddenly 



58 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

cease, and I shall be again houseless and friend- 
less as I ever have been." 

" Oh ! Clernmie," said Mary, " do not speak so 
bitterly. Be assured, my dearest friend, that as 
long as I live there will always be one at least, 
who will feel an interest in your welfare." 

" Forgive me, dear Mary," said Clemmie, meek- 
ly ; " but my soul is full of bitterness to-night, 
and my language partakes of the same character- 
istics ; but I will try to be more reasonable." 

" But why should you be sad ?" persisted Mary. 
"You have just graduated with the highest hon- 
ors of the school — a head and shoulders above 
any of us, and every one is praising your beauty 
and accomplishments — you have made hosts of 
friends during your stay here ; your education 
qualifies you for any position in life — what more 
can you want ?" 

" Doubtless," said Clemmie, " there is some 
truth in what you say, but it does not satisfy me. 
I am proud, proud as Lucifer himself, and to be 
debarred by my abject poverty, and the loneliness 
of my situation, from shining as I ought and de- 
sire to, galls me beyond measure." 

" Why, Clemmie," said Mary, opening wide her 
great black eyes with astonishment, " how you 
talk. I never suspected you of such inordinate 
pride and envy. Oh! beware, my dear friend," 
she continued with affectionate energy, " that this 
feeling does not embitter your whole nature, and 
destroy all your future happiness." 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



59 



"The feeling is there, nevertheless, " said Clem- 
mie ; " but here comes Mr. Childs, my future mas- 
ter ; let us drop the subject." 

Mr. Childs came up, and having paid his re- 
spects to the young ladies, whom he now met for 
the first time this evening, and noticing the un- 
wonted flush which her conversation with Mary 
Hollister, and the feeling by which that conversa- 
tion had been dictated, had brought to the coun- 
tenance of Miss St. Clair, he said : 

u This room is very close, Miss St. Clair. Per- 
mit me to lead you into the open air." 

He offered his arm as he spoke ; she took it, 
and with a light adieu to Mary, they passed on to 
the porch. 

Whether Clemmie had any suspicion of Mr. 
Childs' motive in conducting her away from the 
crowd, I know not ; most likely she had not, but 
he took advantage of the occasion to declare his 
love for her, and implore her return to Memphis 
with him as his wife. He told her how lonely his 
home and heart had been for the two years since 
the death of his wife ; how, at the first interview, 
six months before, his heart had been touched 
with her rare beauty ; how time and further ac- 
quaintance had developed and strengthened the 
feeling to which that hour had given birth, until 
at last he had come to believe that his home 
would not be a home if unblessed by her love and 
her presence. All this, and much more, he said 
to her, and when at last he paused for an answer, 



60 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

poor Clemmie was so much agitated by conflicting 
emotions, that she was utterly incapable of mak- 
ing any reply. 

On the one hand she really loved the young 
lawyer to whom, as Childs had been truly inform- 
ed, she had long since plighted her troth ; but he 
was, like herself, poor and friendless, and long 
years must elapse before he could be in a condi- 
tion to support her in the style demanded by her 
inordinate pride. On the other hand, while she 
respected Mr. Childs, her heart had no warmer 
feeling toward him; but then his great wealth, 
and his consequent ability to install her at once 
as mistress of one of the finest and most palatial 
mansions of Tennessee, appealed strongly to the 
more unworthy feelings of her soul, to which 
she had just given utterance in her conversation 
with Mary Hollister, and between these two 
powerful and opposing forces, she found herself, 
to the shame of her womanhood be it spoken, 
unable to decide. 

For a time, therefore, after Mr. Childs had 
finished his impassioned harangue, she stood in 
silent, shivering agony, gazing out into the dim 
darkness, which the silvery moon, just rising be- 
hind the trees, served but feebly to dispel. How 
she compared that darkness, and that feeble, 
shimmering light, with her own life — ever here- 
tofore, to her, so dark and dreary, and upon 
which the light seemed just arising, in this prop- 
osition made by a wealthy man. How much hap- 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



61 



pier had been her future lot, had she but com- 
pared the love of young Moore to the light danc- 
ing upon her darkness, instead of this proposal, 
which involved the sale of her heart's best treas- 
ures for paltry gold. 

But, when Childs pressed her for an answer, 
and she thought of the years of poverty and toil 
which lay between her and the affluence she 
coveted if she followed the dictates of her love, 
her pride conquered, and with something that 
sounded very much like a sigh, she laid her icy 
hand in his, and took upon herself the vows 
which forever divorced her heart from his who 
only had been able to arouse its latent fires. 
And, as the sacrifice was completed, there was a 
silent pressure of the hand, a kiss upon the clay- 
cold lips, the transfer of a costly diamond ring, 
which glittered in the pale moonlight like an 
angel's tear, from his finger to hers, and they 
parted ; he going to his hotel, while she returned 
into the house. 

And, when she re-entered the drawing-room and 
mingled with the gay throng there assembled, an 
unnatural flush was upon her cheek, and a 
strange, wild, exultant light burned in her eye, 
although a fierce unrest was at her heart. She 
knew that Robert Moore loved her fondly ; she 
knew that her heart and the promise of her hand 
had been given to him ; she felt that she had 
sacrificed every hope of future happiness — had, 
with her own hand, closed the golden gate of 



62 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

hope and peace, in obedience to the dictates of 
the demon Pride, and her heart almost quailed 
as she contemplated the fate she had entailed 
upon herself. 

Oh ! that woman should ever so far forget her 
higher and holier nature as thus to barter herself, 
love, self-respect, and all that makes her lovable, 
for paltry wealth and ease. Oh ! my sisters, when 
you adopt this as your creed and rule of action, 
then prepare yourselves at once to bid adieu to 
all that you have hoped for on earth, of comfort 
or happiness ; for as surely as there is One who 
orders and directs the affairs of frail humanity, 
as surely will this fate befall you. You may 
derive a temporary pleasure from the possession 
of gold or diamonds, a magnificent residence or a 
splendid establishment — purchased by your treas- 
on to true womanhood — but behind all there is, 
and ever will be, a hungry longing for that which 
you bartered away, poisoning all your short-lived 
joys, and which, like the ghost of the murdered 
Banquo, will not down at your bidding. 

Not long did Clemmie remain amid the gay 
party which had been assembled to do honor to 
the day. Her heart was too full, and at an early 
hour she repaired to her own room, where she 
penned a note to her lawyer lover, asking him to 
meet her the next evening beside the spring which 
had witnessed the plighting of their vows — a 
place which they both remembered only too well 
— sealed and directed it, and sought her couch. 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



But sleep she could not. For a long time she 
lay and tossed from side to side, but at last she 
sank into a troubled slumber and dreamed. 

She thought she was walking through a mighty 
forest, the altitude of whose trees seemed almost 
immeasurable, while their leafy and thickly inter- 
laced boughs shut out every ray of the sun's light, 
and invested the whole place with almost Egyptian 
darkness. The path was narrow and rugged, 
briers and thorns abounded on either hand, and 
the way seemed strewn with rough and flinty 
pebbles, which bruised and lacerated her tender 
feet as she painfully hobbled along. On either 
hand, too, she heard the ominous growling of raven- 
ous wild beasts, apparently denouncing vengeance 
upon her for her invasion of their domain, while 
the disgusting buzzard and hideous owl flapped 
their wings and gnashed their beaks in her face. 

At last she reached a point where the narrow 
pathway divided into two, and here she found two 
females, each of whom besought her to walk in 
different directions. She who urged her to follow 
the path which led toward the right hand was a 
gentle, lovely maiden, clad in plain but comfort- 
able garments, and the angelic brightness of 
whose countenance seemed to lighten up the 
gloomy forest with a splendor to which it had 
hitherto been a stranger, and by the light of which 
she could see that her mild blue eyes beamed 
with a heavenly luster. But Clemmie could see 
that the path whose claims she advocated was 



64 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

narrow, and rough, and broken, as that by which 
she had come, and, though assured that at last 
it expanded into a lovely mead bespangled with 
brightest flowers of unrivaled fragrance, where 
the air was melodious with the songs of birds, 
she thought of her already long and tiresome 
journey, and, with a weary sigh, she turned to 
look at the other path. 

The one who urged her to follow this was of tall 
and stately figure, not unlike her own, and was clad 
in robes of velvet and satin, while the most costly 
gems flashed and glittered on every part of her 
person. Upon her head was a magnificent tiara 
of diamonds ; her cloak of ermine was fastened by 
a brooch of pearls, whose luster vied with that of 
the noonday sun ; the amethyst, the emerald, the 
carbuncle and the topaz lent their aid to enhance 
her more regal splendor, while her sandals were 
of the purest gold. The path to which she pointed 
was smooth and open, and when Clemmie con- 
trasted it with the gloom and discomfort of the 
other, although she shuddered at the almost bale- 
ful light whish flashed from the black eyes of 
the guide, she turned into it, while she who had 
vainly striven to restrain her, heaved a deep sigh 
and walked away. 

She had, however, taken but two or three steps 
in the new direction, when she was suddenly 
plunged over a precipice, which was concealed by 
a natural garland of flowers, and she felt herself 
falling, falling, falling — it seemed to her through 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 65 

space almost interminable, until at last she reach- 
ed the bottom in the midst of pitchy darkness. 
A while she lay, unable to move and fearful of 
some new danger, when at last a thin, sulphurous 
flame arose, which served to light up all the 
horrors of the place. 

It was a cavern or measureless depth into which 
she had fallen, and from which the perpendicular 
walls, green and slimy with the accumulated de- 
posits of endless age, forbade all hope of escape. 
Around her were noisome, slimy reptiles, skele- 
tons, fleshless, grinning skulls, and precious gems 
heaped in strange and painful juxtaposition, 
while the air was filled with intangible shapes, 
which gibed, and glowered, and scowled upon her 
until her brain almost burned in its socket with 
the intensity of her emotions. At last a tall and 
stately figure approached her, but, as it came 
near, she shuddered, and covered her eyes to shut 
out the indescribable repulsiveness of his appear- 
ance. 

"Daughter, " said the figure in an awful voice ; 
" thou art welcome." 

Her agony lent her courage, and she demanded, 
" Who art thou, demon, and what is this horrid 
place ? " 

" This is the vale of Despair, and I am Kemorse, 
the presiding genius. These bones that lie strewn 
on every hand are the remains of those who have 
been dashed to pieces by the fall from which thou 
hast been miraculously preserved ; these precious 



66 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

gems are the treasures for which they have barter- 
ed their peace and happiness, and these demons 
lowering around thee in mid air are thoughts of 
departed hopes and joys. Hadst thou heeded the 
voice of the blue-eyed maiden who met thee in 
the forest, though the way might have been rough 
for a time, thou hadst never known the horrors of 
this place, but thou didst not, and now thou art 
doomed to walk forever amid the scenes by which 
thou art surrounded, while I shall be ever present 
to whisper thy misdeeds in thy ears." 

" Then God have mercy upon me, a poor, misera- 
ble sinner !" she cried in the depth of her strong 
agony. 

As she pronounced these words a flood of light 
burst upon her from some invisible source ; she 
felt herself irresistibly borne upward and away 
from the horrors amid which she had been lying • 
she looked around, but the spirits by whom she 
had been haunted were fast receding from her 
view ; the presiding demon of the horrid place 
mocked, and screamed, and made the most frantic, 
but vain, efforts to follow her, and with a loud cry 
of thankfulness for her deliverance she awoke. 
She was in a cold sweat, and was shivering from 
head to foot, and, for a long time, she was unable 
to realize where she was, but at last she recovered 
the full possession of her faculties, and wept 
scalding tears of joy as she realized that she was 
safe in her own bed, and that it was all but a 
horrid dream. 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



8? 



When she arose in the morning she felt feverish 
and unrefreshed, and Mary, who was her room- 
mate, expressed much concern at her flushed 
cheeks and red and swollen eyes. But Clemmie, 
although suffering from a severe headache, so 
earnestly assured her that nothing was the matter, 
that she at last ceased to feel any solicitude, and 
they descended to the breakfast -room together. 
But Clemmie could not eat. Aside from her mere 
physical suffering, her mind was full of the most 
fearful forebodings of the future, as she reflected 
upon the events of the preceding evening, and 
thought of the fearful dream which had followed 
them so closely as almost to seem a warning grow- 
ing out of them. She at last left the table before 
the meal was half completed, and, asking Mary 
Hollister to come to their room as soon as she had 
finished her breakfast, she sought the solitude of 
her chamber. Calling the errand-boy, she gave 
him the note she had written the night before, 
and, requesting him to carry it at once to its 
direction, she sat down to wait, with what 
patience she could, for her friend. 

And she had not long to wait, for Mary, judging 
from the appearance and conduct of her friend 
that she had something of importance to com- 
municate, lost no time in complying with her re- 
quest. 

" Well, dear Clemmie," said she, as she came 
into the room and twined her arms lovingly 



68 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



around her friend, " what is it that ails you this 
morning ? " 

" Oh ! Mary," said our heroine, as she leaned 
her head wearily upon the bosom of her friend, 
" I am so unhappy." 

" Unhappy ! " echoed Mary. " Why should 
you be unhappy ? " 

"Mary, I am going to marry Mr. Childs." 

*' And is that what makes you unhappy ? " 

"Yet," said Clemmie, simply. 

"Then why do you do it? " asked Mary. 

" Can you ask me why after the conversation 
wre had last night ? " said Clemmie, almost re- 
proachfully. " You remember he came and took 
me away in the midst of that conversation. Then 
lie proposed to me — I need a home, and so I 
accepted him." 

" But you do not love him ? " 

" No, I cannot say that I do, and yet I do not 
dislike him," said Clemmie. " He is good- 
looking, intelligent and wealthy, and I dare say I 
shall be as happy with him as I could be with 
anybody," and the poor girl shuddered as she 
realized the falsehood to which she was giving 
utterance. 

" If the marriage is so painful, why not re- 
tract ? " 

" I cannot do that. My pride would never let 
me," said she. And yet her pride had not kept 
her from trampling in the dust the affection of a 
true heart, for which she had given all her own. 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



69 



"Beware, dear Clemmie," said Mary, tenderly, 
"that your pride does not render you unhappy 
for life. But when is it to be ? " 

" The time is not set yet, but very soon, no 
doubt, as he wants to return at a very early day 
to Memphis. He is coming at two o'clock to-day 
to fix the time. You must not start home to-day, 
Mary. I want you to stay and witness the sacri- 
fice," said Clemmie, with a faint attempt to smile. 

A long time the friends sat and talked of the 
approaching wedding; but Clemmie could not 
bring herself to tell her friend of her love for the 
young lawyer, or of her dream. Had she done so, 
it is just possible it might have lent sufficient 
energy to Mary's remonstrances to have broken 
off the match, even at this late hour. 

Mr. Childs came promptly at the appointed 
time, and earnestly plead that the wedding might 
take place that same evening. To this, however, 
she would not consent, for reasons that the reader 
will readily understand ; but it was finally ar- 
ranged that they should be married the next even- 
ing at eight o'clock, in Madam DeChampe's par- 
lor. This being the utmost concession he could 
obtain, Mr. Childs was fain to be content with it, 
and soon after took his leave, and it may be 
remarked — strange as it may seem — that it was 
to Clemmie's great relief that he did so. 

Words can scarcely describe the fearful shrink- 
ing with which Clemmie St. Clair contemplated 
her self-appointed interview with Robert Moore 



70 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

that evening. And as the day wore away, her 
repugnance increased, until she actually regretted 
having summoned him to the tryst, and half re- 
solved not to keep the appointment. Ah ! where 
then was the pride which had thus far sustained 
her in the sad drama she was enacting ? How it 
vanished in the fiery ordeal to which it was sub- 
jected by the flames of that fierce love which the 
hand of Robert Moore had kindled upon the altar 
of her heart. But it must be. 

As the sun slowly descended the hill of the 
western sky, until his lower limb almost touched 
the horizon, she threw a heavy shawl around her 
shoulders, for she shivered with cold, although it 
was yet early September, and sought the spring 
by whose limpid waters she had so often met her 
lover under other and happier auspices. 

She found young Moore already waiting for 
her, and chafing with impatience for her coming. 
Poor fellow ! had he known or suspected the 
nature of the intelligence he was summoned there 
to hear, how would he have shrunk from the 
meeting which, in his happy ignorance, he so 
eagerly coveted! For, from the time of his first 
meeting with Clemmie St. Clair, long years before, 
when she was but little more than a child, she 
had been the object of his passionate devotion, 
and the shrine of his most reverential adoration. 
And when, about a year before the opening of our 
story, the blushing girl had confessed her love 
for him, and had promised one day to become his 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



71 



bride and share his humble lot, the world had 
seemed to him brighter than before ; the sun ap- 
peared to shine with a mellower light ; the birds 
had seemed to pour forth sweeter notes, and all 
nature appeared to sympathize with the joy 
which permeated his entire soul. Thenceforth 
life had for him new objects, new aims, and new 
aspirations ; to him no toil was too wearisome or 
unremitting, no hardship or privation too severe, 
so it only brought him nearer to the full fruition 
of the hopes he had cherished in the inmost re- 
cesses of his heart, until they had become a part 
of his very being. And now, in obedience to the 
dictates of the demons Pride and Avarice, the fair 
and beauteous castles in which he had so long- 
dwelt, were at one fell blow to be prostrated to 
the dust, and to become a mass of shapeless 
and uninhabitable ruins, even if, perchance, he 
should escape being crushed in their demoli- 
tion. 

As Clemmie approached the spring, the young 
lawyer advanced to meet her with true, lover-like 
eagerness, but, for the first time, she shrank from 
him ; and as he came near her, she put out her 
hand deprecatingly, and, in a voice which sound- 
ed like the last wail of a despairing spirit, she 
cried out : 

"Do not touch or come near me, Robert Moore.' 
Hear what I have to say, and then never speak 
to me again." 



72 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



The young man stopped short, almost petrified 
with amazement. 

" What do you mean, Clemmie ? " he faltered 
out at last. 

Ah! what would she not have given to have 
been spared the revelation she was compelled, or 
rather had compelled herself to make. But there 
was no escape. 

" I mean," she said, in low and husky tones, 
"that we meet this evening for the last time. 
Henceforth we must be as nought to each other." 

" Clemmie, what can you mean?" said the 
young man, uncertain whether he had heard her 
aright. " Am I dreaming, or what do your words 
import ? " 

"I am to be married to-morrow night," she said, 
in tones scarcely above a whisper, and with 
averted, downcast eyes, while her whole frame 
quivered and shook with agony. 

But the most startling effect produced by that 
almost whispered utterance, was upon the young 
man. He started, and reeled as if he had been 
struck by a bullet; his face became of a ghost- 
like paleness, and, for a moment, it seemed as if 
he would fall. Partially recovering himself, how- 
ever, by a mighty effort, he gasped out, 
"Married! " 

"Yes," murmured the girl, with blue and quiv- 
ering lips, while the pallor of her complexion 

rivaled his own. 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



73 



"Oh ! Clemmie St. Clair," lie cried ; " is this the 
faith you pledged to me on this very spot ? " 

" Say no more, Robert Moore," she replied ; " it 
must be." 

"But who is to be the happy bridegroom ? " he 
asked, in a voice whose sarcastic and concentrated 
bitterness pierced her to the heart. She felt, 
however, that the relations heretofore existing 
between them gave him a right to ask the ques- 
tion, and, in a low voice, she murmured the name 
of his successful rival. 

" Oh ! the rich planter," said he, fiercely. " I 
see it all now. The love you professed for the 
young, poverty-stricken lawyer was not proof 
against the gold and gems he could lay at 
your feet. You have bartered yourself, body 
and soul, for accursed Mammon. Good-bye, 
false one ; and when, in after years, you shall 
find the fruit, which now seems so fair to 
view, like the bitter apples of the Dead Sea, 
turning to ashes upon your lips, reflect that, of 
your own free will, you have thrown aside and 
trampled upon a heart which would have been 
true to you as the needle to the pole. And then, 
when your soul cries out in its strong agony, and 
you seek in vain for the rest which will never 
come to you, remember this last evening by the 
spring, and remember, too, that by your own 
inordinate pride you have brought upon yourself 
all the anguish you will then feel." 

He turned on his heel and was gone. She 



74 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



would have called after him ; but, paralyzed by 
his bitter denunciation, her tongue refused its 
office, and pale, trembling, almost fainting, she 
returned to the house and sought her own room, 
where she lay for a long time sobbing in uncon- 
trolled anguish ; for Clemmie had really loved the 
talented young lawyer, and this violent rending 
asunder of the ties which bound them together 
was scarcely less painful to her than it had been 
to him ; and, but for the overweening pride which 
overmastered every other emotion, she would have 
fallen under the struggle. 

When Mary Hollister sought her room that 
night she found her friend in a feverish, troubled 
sleep. She lay on the outside of the bed, where 
she had thrown herself, without removing her 
clothing, after her return from the spring. Her 
pillow was wet with tears, her face was flushed, 
and her breath came quick and heavy like that of 
one in a fever. 

Mary was frightened, and called aloud upon 
her friend. She awoke with a start, gazing wildly 
for a moment at the girl who stood before her, and 
then, remembering the events of the evening be- 
fore, she buried her face in the pillow, while con- 
vulsive sobs shook her very frame. 

" Oh ! Clemmie," said Mary, " why are you so 
unhappy ? If this marriage is so painful to you, 
why not renounce it while there is yet time ? " 

"Say no more about that, Mary, if you love 
me," replied her friend, when her weeping had 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



75 



somewhat relieved her overcharged heart, " I have 
already told you that is impossible ; and, besides, 
I am not so unhappy as you think. This marriage 
is not so hateful to me as you imagine. But I 
have been free so long that I naturally shrink 
a little from giving up my identity to another. 
So let us retire and think no more of my foolish 
emotion." 

Mary was far from being reassured by the 
manner in which her friend treated the subject; 
but she forebore to press the matter further, and 
in a short time was fast asleep, while poor 
Clemmie lay awake almost the whole of the live- 
long night, with no companion but her own sad 
thoughts ; but toward morning exhausted nature 
gave way and she slept. 

It is scarcely necessary to weary the reader 
with any description of the hasty preparations 
for the wedding of the following evening, or to 
portray the dress and appearance of the bride 
and groom ; suffice it to say that Mr. Childs 
looked, as he really was, proud, exultant, happy, 
while the whiteness of the bridal veil she wore 
was rivaled by the almost unearthly pallor of 
poor Clemmie's complexion, and that there were 
moments during the performance of the cere- 
mony when Mary, who stood near her, almost 
expected to see her faint. Is it possible that 
the memory of the scene by the spring on the 
previous evening was present to her, and that, 
in the words of the man of God she heard 



76 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



again her discarded lover's denunciation? Who 
knows ? 

But when the ceremony was over, and her 
friends, many of whom secretly envied what they 
pleased to term her good fortune, crowded around 
to offer their congratulations upon the splendid 
prize she had woo, then it was that, in the 
feeling of gratified pride which swelled in her 
heart, she found what she deemed ample compen- 
sation for her sufferings, and became once more 
her own gay and lightsome self; and she chatted, 
and jested, and laughed so merrily, that none save 
Mary Hollister suspected that only a few short 
hours before she had been a prey to emotions 
whose intensity drove her almost to the verge of 
distraction, while she, prudent, sensible girl as 
she was, when she witnessed the sudden change, 
shook her head sadly; for she attributed this 
mirthfulness to its just cause, and sighed as she 
thought of the results to Clemmie's future peace 
and happiness which those feelings might pro- 
duce. 

The readers of the Herald cannot have for- 
gotten the nature of this marriage, published by 
that paper at the time of its occurrence, or the 
long and glowing paneg}^ric of the local editor 
upon the beauty, wit and grace of the bride, and 
the immense wealth and gentlemanly, refined 
bearing of the happy groom. But there was one 
who read it — a pale, intellectual lawyer—who 
crushed the paper convulsively in his hand, and, 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



7? 



muttering, " Sacli is the love of woman, false 
and fleeting as the mirage of the desert," threw it 
from him, and turned with a heavy heart to the 
labors demanded of him by his profession. 

From that moment Robert Moore was a changed 
man. Heretofore one of the gayest, cheeriest and 
most light-hearted young men of -, happy be- 
cause industrious and hopeful, he now ignored 
society entirely, and devoted himself almost with- 
out intermission to his books and his office. The 
liappy circle in which he had hitherto been a 
leading spirit missed him from its midst; his 
friends murmured and said that he was becoming 
a churlish hermit; his face grew haggard and 
« are-worn, and years seemed added to his age in 
as many months. But what cared he ? He seemed 
b)ut to live for and in his profession, and while, by 
Iris assiduity, he was rapidly mounting the ladder 
of fame and competence, he recked not that his 
physical nature was being worn out with equal 
rapidity. At length, however, his health became 
so much impaired by his constant and laborious 
exertions, that his physician, in most positive 
terms, enjoined rest and relaxation, and he deter- 
mined to travel abroad in pursuit of that bodily 
strength so essential to the successful prosecution 
of his calling. 

Ten years have passed from time into eternity 
since the wedding in Madam DeChampe's parlor; 
ten years of equally divided sunshine and dark- 



78 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



ness ; ten years fraught with uncounted blessings 
to some, and with untold misery to others ; ten 
years of mirth and sadness, of pleasure and of 
pain— so strangely are the lights and shadows 
commingled in this transitory world of ours. 

Allow me, dear reader, to solicit the pleasure of 
your company for a brief visit to that famous 
watering-place which, a few years since, attracted 
annually its thousands of visitors from all parts 
of the Union — the renowned springs of Saratoga. 
We need not fear the expense; we will simply 
avail ourselves of the rights and privileges every- 
where extended to authors, and travel, as did the 
Apostles of old, without scrip or purse, and with- 
out the annoyance and dust of railway trains, or 
the discomforts of over-crowded hotels. And we 
shall be amply repaid for our journey by the 
sights we shall witness there. 

We shall see hundreds of gay^and smiling faces 
which, like the merry masks of an Italian carni- 
val, are worn but to conceal some hideous deform- 
ity which lurks beneath, and hides itself deep in 
the inmost recesses of sorrowing souls ; we shall 
witness the glare and glitter of fashion in its 
satins and jewels, beneath which beat hearts 
whose very strings have long since been shriveled 
and wasted by the fierce fires of anger, hate and 
jealousy; we shall behold fair faces and lovely 
forms clad in richest robes, and spangled with 
choiest gems, whose owners would willingly barter 
all their wealth and tinsel for one hour of the 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



79 



peace and content which, dwell in some humble 
woodman's cottage; we shall hear the hollow, 
mocking laugh, which, coming from the lips of the 
gay devotee of fashion, serves but to conceal the 
fierce storm of unrest which rages within. Oh! 
yes, we shall realize the truth of the adage, "All 
is not gold that glitters," and shall learn and 
fully appreciate the lesson that all the misery and 
all the wretchedness of this life do not exist 
among those whose early and late hours of daily 
toil scarcely serve to provide them with a scant 
sufficiency of the commonest necessaries of life. 
Oh! no, ye honest, virtuous poor, hard though 
your lot and circumscribed your sphere, envy not 
the gay ones who, loaded by fortune's smiles with 
untold wealth, spend their hours amid the giddy 
mazes of fashion's rounds. Too often would they 
gladly exchange all they have for the poor crust 
which constitutes your evening meal, could they 
but receive with it immunity from the grievous 
burdens they are compelled to bear, but to which 
you are strangers. 

We shall not find all strangers at the Springs. 
See that portly, well-preserved gentleman of fifty, 
promenading up and down the piazza of Congress 
Hall. His fine, rotund form, and genial, refined 
bearing, so indicative of wealth, ease and culture, 
seem familiar to us, and, upon approaching closer, 
we recognize him as none other than our old 
friend Oliver Childs. Time has changed him but 
little ; he looks slightly older than when we first 



80 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



met him, but he has evidently lived at ease with 
himself and all the world besides. 

But who is that woman hanging on his arm, 
with slow and feeble steps, whose form, once tall 
and stately, but now bent with premature old age, 
seems to indicate that her life has been the very 
reverse of his by whose side she walks ? Surely 
that cannot be she whose wondrous beauty so im- 
pressed all beholders at her marriage but ten 
years ago ! And yet it is ; but, oh, how changed ! 

Her life has been all that she expected when 
she accepted the proffered hand of the wealthy 
planter. Her husband has been kindness itself; 
loving her fervently and sincerely as he did, no 
pains or expense has been too great for him in the 
vain effort to render her lot a happy one ; every 
luxury which imagination could devise, or almost 
boundless wealth purchase, has been freely lav- 
ished upon her; both hemispheres have been ran- 
sacked, and every art and science has been laid 
under contribution to promote her happiness. The 
best trained and most obsequious of servants have 
attended her footsteps almost constantly ; the lux- 
uriousness of her robes and the splendor of her 
equipages have excited the envy and admiration 
of all her friends, and her jewels have rivaled, in 
richness and elegance, those of an empress. 

But, ah! amid all her splendor not an hour of 
true, genuine peace has she known. There has 
ever been a canker at her heart, gnawing into her 
soul with an insatiable appetite, and one which 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



81 



would not be appeased ; her days have been days 
of pain unceasing, and her nights have been full 
of anguish. From the contemplation of every 
scene of beauty she has turned, shuddering, away; 
against the sweetest strains of music she has 
closed her ears; a pale, intellectual countenance 
has obtruded itself between her and every lovely 
picture, and in every strain of music she has 
heard naught but the stern voice of her lover de- 
nouncing her perfidy. Go where she would, that 
last, sad scene by the spring has ever been pres- 
ent, poisoning all her joy, and turning her happi- 
ness into wailing and gnashing of teeth. Surely, 
if Robert Moore could now see her, he would pity 
her wretchedness, and recall the anathemas which 
he then pronounced upon her. 

When Clemmie St. Clair married Oliver Childs, 
well knowing, as she did, that not a particle of 
love existed in her heart for him, she, nevertheless, 
faithfully resolved within herself never to fail in 
any single duty imposed upon her by the mar- 
riage covenant, and never by any word, act or 
sign, reveal to him the fact that she loved or had 
loved another, and faithfully was that resolution 
kept. In sickness or in health the voice of duty 
was never unheeded, and despite his tender watch- 
fulness, and his consciousness that she was far 
from happy, he never for a moment suspected that 
this unhappiness was caused by concealed love. 
And this very concealment had, of course, but in- 
creased the burden, until she was well-nigh worn 
6 



82 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



out in the struggle, and reduced to the mere skel- 
eton of her former self, which we now behold. 

A gentleman and lady walking slowly down the 
street attracted the attention of Mrs. Childs ; for a 
moment she gazed at them as if fascinated, and 
then as they came closer, and she fully recog- 
nized them, a stifled cry of anguish escaped her y 
and she fell fainting to the floor. And as we turn 
to see who they are, whose mere presence could 
have so powerfully affected her, we recognize our 
friends of the olden time, Robert Moore and Mary 
Hollister — no longer Mary Hollister, however, but 
the loved and honored wife of the noble man by 
whose side she is walking. 

Mary is the same lovely, sunny, cheerful crea- 
ture whom we introduced to the reader ten years 
ago, save that her charms have been more fully 
matured, and her form more perfectly developed 
by the gentle touch of time. Her life has been 
one constant scene of happiness, and she seems, 
as in very truth she is, the sunlight of her hus- 
band's pathway. His demeanor is the same as of 
old — gay, cheerful, and light hearted, with the ad- 
dition of a certain degree of dignity suited to his 
position; for, having been for several years re- 
garded as one of the most eminent, successful and 
wealthy lawyers of Cincinnati, he has lately been 
elected a member of the State Senate. 

Though scarcely acquainted with Mary Hollister 
when she was an inmate of Madam DeChampe's 
school, when young Moore met her at the seaside 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



S3 



during the recess in business which his failing- 
health compelled him to take, as heretofore re- 
lated, he had approached her and claimed her as 
an old friend, on the strength of one or two casual 
meetings. She, on her part, being comparatively 
among strangers, was by no means averse to a re- 
newal of their former slight acquaintance, and met 
his advances kindly ; and thus they had become 
first friends, then intimate associates, and finally 
husband and wife — a step which, in the five years 
that had passed, neither had seen any occasion to 
regret. 

" Oh ! Robert," said Mary, as that slight cry fell 
upon her ear, " see ! there is a lady who has faint- 
ed. I wonder who she is ? " 

"Perhaps, my love," replied he fondly, "you 
had better go and see if you can be of any serv- 
ice." 

And then, without waiting to make any reply, 
Mary released her hold upon her husband's arm 
and sprang up the steps. Several of the bystand- 
ers had gathered around, and she experienced 
some little delay in getting to the side of the suf- 
ferer ; and when she finally stood beside the un- 
fortunate lady, she utterly failed to recognize her 
friend of former days, so sadly had her silent and 
terrible suffering changed her. It was not until 
Clemmie opened her eyes, and Mary gazed into 
those wondrous depths of cerulean hue, which 
neither time nor tears had been able to dim, that 
she knew her as the beautiful and stately girl who 



84 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



had been her room and classmate ten years be- 
fore ; and then, so shocked was she at her altered 
appearance that she was for a moment almost 
incapable of thought or action. But she speedily 
recovered her equanimity, and under her careful 
attention, stimulated by the discovery she had 
made, Clemmie was restored to complete con- 
sciousness ; and, as soon as she was able to stand, 
Mr. Childs, who had evinced the utmost anxiety 
on her account, said, in tones which betrayed all 
his boundless affection for her: 

" Come, my love, allow me to assist you to your 
room. You are too weak to remain here." And 
throwing his arm around her waist, he led her 
away, but not until she had whispered to her 
friend, 

" Come to me here to-morrow at three. I shall 
be alone then, and I have, oh ! so much to say to 
you." 

When Mary rejoined her husband, her face was 
pale and clouded. The scene she had just wit- 
nessed had fully impressed her with the belief that 
Clemmie Childs was most miserable ; and by a 
sort of female intuition, she had ascribed her 
wretchedness to its true cause. Her mind had 
gone back to the evening wedding in Madam 
DeChampe's parlor, and to her vain efforts to dis- 
suade her friend from the commission of her fatal 
error; and when she saw the terrible results of 
Clemmie's pride, and reflected what might have 
been her position had she but heeded the advice 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



85 



so kindly given, she could scarcely repress her 
tears. 

The young Senator could not fail to observe his 
wife's altered demeanor, and he anxiously inquired 
the cause. 

" Oh ! Robert," said she, " that poor, unfortunate 
lady is an old schoolmate and intimate friend of 
mine, and now it is nothing but misery and wretch- 
edness which has so sadly changed her that, when 
I first saw her, I did not recognize her." 

" Who is she ? " inquired her husband, full of 
sympathy. 

"Her name is Childs. She was a member of 
Madam DeChampe's school when I was there, and 
was then my most intimate friend. Her name was 
then Clemmie St. Clair. She married Mr. Childs 
on account of his great wealth, confessing to me at 
the same time that she had no love for him, and 
now — but what is the matter ? " she asked in evi- 
dent alarm, for a deadly pallor had overspread her 
husband's face while she was speaking. 

" It is nothing," replied he hastily, and recover- 
ing his calmness by a powerful effort — " nothing 
but a momentary indisposition, which is now gone. 
Pray, proceed." 

"I have nothing more to tell," replied Mary, 
" save that I promised to call on her to-morrow at 
three o'clock, when I shall doubtless learn all; 
there was no opportunity for conversation to-day." 

Mr. Moore made no reply, and they walked to 
their hotel in silence, each reflecting, though in very 



86 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



different channels, upon the sad results of ambi- 
tion and pride when unrestrained and uncontrolled 
by a strong sense of duty, as exemplified in the sit- 
uation of the unfortunate lady they had just seen. 

When Mary went the next day to call upon her 
friend, she found her in bed, surrounded by all the 
appliances of a sick-room. Clemmie lay on a 
couch whose sheets were scarcely whiter than the 
pinched and sorrow-stricken face which peeped 
from between them; bottles and packages of vari- 
ous kinds of medicines were arranged upon a table 
beside the bed ; while a silent but attentive nurse 
sat in a corner of the room reading, but ready at a 
moment's notice to wait upon the sufferer. As 
Mrs. Moore entered the room the attendant with- 
drew, and for the first time in ten long years the 
friends were face to face alone. For a moment 
they were both so overpowered by the recollec- 
tions of the past that neither spoke; then Clem- 
mie stretched forth her thin and trembling hand, 
and said : 

" How kind of you, dear Mary, to come to me. 
Come and sit down beside me while I tell you the 
sad history of a life of wretchedness and woe — 
now, thank Heaven ! near its close." 

" Oh ! Clemmie," said Mary, her eyes filling 
with tears, " say not so. You will yet recover, 
and, I trust, see many happy days." 

" No, my friend," said Clemmie calmly, " I shall 
never rise from this bed. But do not think I fear 
or dread to die. For years I have been dying by 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



87 



inches, and when I witnessed you enjoying the 
happiness which, but for my own folly and pride, 
might have been mine, the shock was too great for 
me, and, at that moment, snapped asunder the last 
brittle tie which bound me to life. Yes, Mary, my 
heart is broken, and now I have no wish to live." 

"What do you mean," said Mary, trembling 
and turning pale; for the words of her friend 
brought vividly to her mind the emotion displayed 
lay her husband at the mention of Clemmie's name 
the day before. 

"Listen, and I will explain ; and when you have 
heard my story, then despise me if you will, for I 
feel that I deserve it," said Glemmie, sadly. " You 
remember how vainly you sought to dissuade me 
from my contemplated marriage with Childs, and 
bow my foolish pride and criminal vanity would 
not let me heed your friendly advice. At that 
time I loved and was engaged to your noble hus- 
band ; — nay," said she hastily, as Mary mani- 
fested some emotion at this revelation, "let not 
this trouble you in the least; he has long since 
cast me out of his heart, where you alone reign 
supreme ; and when I had accepted Childs, I met 
Robert by appointment, and told him the terrible 
truth, to me, that henceforth we must be as naught 
to each other. Ah! how vividly does sleepless 
memory reproduce that scene to me ! In words 
which have rung in my ears ever since, he de- 
nounced my want of faith, and left me. And from 
that time I never saw him till yesterday, when, 



88 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

leaning on his arm, his honored wife, you received 
from him those looks of unutterable fondness 
which were once all my own." 

The violence of her emotion temporarily checked 
her utterance. Mary was scarcely less affected 
than herself. She knew that her husband had 
loved and had been deceived, but she never sus- 
pected that Glemmie was the false one ; and this 
revelation overwhelmed her with emotion. Clem- 
mie, after a short pause, having become somewhat 
more composed, proceeded : 

"I married Childs for his wealth, and, loving me 
fondly as he did, he surrounded me with every lux- 
ury which that wealth could purchase. But vain 
were all his efforts to awaken a responsive feeling 
in my bosom. My heart was dead and cold, or, if 
alive at all, it was only to an intense hate and 
loathing of myself and of the gilded cage in which 
I lived. My pathway was strewn with gold and 
gems, but all too late I learned that they would 
not afford rest to the aching heart. I had sold 
myself for paltry gold, and when the fell bargain 
was consummated, I found that my nature craved 
and demanded something higher and nobler. How 
I loathed and abhorred myself! My wedded life 
has been one long scene of fearful hypocrisy, of 
hollow mockery and falsehood. Had I but heeded 
your advice, I might have lived a truer, nobler and 
happier life ; but I sinned against light and knowl- 
edge, and fearful has been my punishment. I sold 
my soul for gold." 



THE BROKEN-HEARTED. 



89 



" But does your husband know of this state of 
feeling ? " asked Mary, weeping at the sight of her 
friend's sufferings. 

"No; I have carefully concealed it from him, " 
said Clemmie; "and this has but added to the 
weight of my burdens. I know not what his sus- 
picions may be, for no word on this subject has 
ever passed between us ; and thus I have painfully 
groped my way onward in my dark and thorny 
path, wounding my feet at every step, while my 
heart strings have been gradually bursting in 
twain. But now, rest is at hand — the calm rest of 
the grave. I am dying, and rejoice at the near 
approach of the close of my weary pilgrimage — a 
journey, which, had I but heeded your friendly 
counsels, might have been enlivened by the sweet- 
est music and beautified with ever-blooming flow- 
ers of endless fragrance ; but which, by my sinful 
pride, has been converted into an arid waste. I 
have sinned, but I have asked God to pardon me, 
and I have accepted Christ as my Saviour." 

" Oh ! Clemmie," said Mary, sobbing, " talk not 
thus. You are gloomy now, but by-and-by you 
will be better. Do not give way to such sorrowful 
fancies." 

" No, Mary, I am not mistaken. Were it other- 
wise, this tale had never been told to you. But 
the hand of Death is upon me ; I feel his cold fin- 
gers clutching at my vitals, and already my feet 
touch the icy waves of the dark river ; but I dread 



30 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

not the passage. I am weary of life, and long 
for rest." 

In vain Mary Moore strove to inspire her friend 
with a more cheerful train of thought. She lis- 
tened calmly and without emotion to all that 
could be suggested, repeated the assurance of her 
speedy dissolution, tenderly kissed her friend, 
and they parted. 

A few days later a funeral-procession might 
have been seen wending its silent way to one of 
the loveliest nooks in the cemetery at Memphis ; 
and there, with many a saddened tear, they 
quietly deposited all that remained of Clemmie 
Childs. Her spirit had taken its flight on the 
same night of her interview with Mary Moore ; 
and her sorrowing husband had borne her inan- 
imate clay back from the Springs, whither he had 
taken her in hopes of her restoration to health, 
only to deposit it in the narrow house appointed 
for all the living. And now, a costly marble 
monument, embellished with everything that the 
wealth and taste of her husband could supply, 
marks her last resting-place. 

Poor, broken heart ! She has found rest at last. 
Her life was one gigantic falsehood ; but she has 
gone where naught but infinite Truth abides. 
Let us hope that the sincerity of her repentance 
lias wrought her forgiveness with Him who is all 
mercy, and who " willeth not that any should 
perish." 



V. 



JAMES MORTON. 

PIONEER CHURCH LIFE IN THE WILDERNESS. 

" You, surely, are not in earnest." 

" Indeed, my dear sister, I am. I have formally 
accepted the call, and in two weeks shall start for 
the far West. There is a little settlement of 
pioneers there, in the midst of an almost bound- 
less wilderness, who are almost starving for the 
bread of life, and it is to such that my Master bids 
me go, and His voice I cannot fail to heed." 

The speaker was a tall, fine-looking, rather 
slenderly-built young man of about twenty-five, 
whom a phrenologist, at the first glance, would 
have pronounced to be possessed of more than or- 
dinary talent and adaptation to his chosen calling 
— that of a minister of the Gospel. His remarks 
were addressed to a young and beautiful girl, who 
was somewhat nervously pacing up and down the 
splendid apartment. Though her figure was more 
petite than his, there was still sufficient resem- 
blance in their features to indicate the relation 
existing between them; but the communication 
just made by the young man had flushed her 

countenance with a certain degree of vexation, 

(91) 



92 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

which added, if possible, to her almost marvelous 
beauty. And even as he spoke so calmly of his 
plans for the future, the young man gazed affec- 
tionately and admiringly upon her, and had the 
matter of difference between them been one of less 
importance, he might have yielded to her remon- 
strances. For James Morton dearly loved his 
sister, and from the time, now more than half a 
score of years since, when the death of both their 
parents, within a few weeks of each other, had 
left them lone orphans, with none but themselves 
to comfort and sustain each other, few had been 
the sacrifices he had been unwilling to make for 
her. By the death of a bachelor uncle, about a 
year after the death of their father, James and 
his sister had been put in possession of a 
princely fortune — the result of a long and success- 
ful connection with the East India trade ; and 
with the most sedulous care and rare good judg- 
ment in one so young, James had devoted himself 
to the task of caring for his sister, and furnishing 
her with an education suited to the station in 
which she was henceforth to move, while his 
ample fortune and consequent leisure enabled 
him, at the same time, to pursue without interrup- 
tion those studies calculated to fit him for the 
station to which he had for years aspired — that 
of an expounder of the life and teachings of the 
Saviour of the world. 

"James, you are certainly mad," said the girl, 



JAMES MORTON. 



93. 



-stopping in her hurried walk, and fixing her eyes 
intently upon her brother, " or you would not 
think of abandoning home, friends, and all the 
comforts and luxuries which your immense for- 
tune would enable you to procure here, to endure 
the hardships, dangers, and perhaps death, which 
await you if you persist in this Quixotic scheme 
of yours." 

" You seem to forget, my dear Laura," said the 
young man, in tones of grave though kindly and 
affectionate reproof, " that this has been the end 
and aim of my whole life, and the sole object 
with which I have expended thousands of dollars 
in acquiring an education which would enable me 
to serve my Master with honor to His name and 
credit to myself; and now, that I have just been 
commissioned to stand upon the walls of Zion, 
shall I turn my back, not only upon the aspira- 
tions of my life, but upon His service, because the 
path is somewhat rugged ? " 

" ISTo ; I did not mean that. But you can easily 
obtain a pulpit here. Your wealth, talents, and 
the influence you could command, would enable 
you to secure a field here, where you could be just 
as useful with half the labor and hardship which 
would be required in this ' mission,' as you term 
it," said the girl, with some impatience. "No, 
no, James ; your place is here, if you would but 
consider." 

" But I have considered fully, dear sister, and 
feel assured that my duty calls me thither. 



94 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



Besides, I have accepted the call, as I have al- 
ready stated, and could not turn back if I would." 

"But you can easily procure an exchange if 
you would," said Laura, persistently. " There 
are thousands of poor ministers who would will- 
ingly relinquish their places for the more labor- 
ious, but less expensive, one accorded to you." 

" God forbid," said the young minister, fervent- 
ly, " that I should consider any toil or hardship 
as too laborious or severe in the service of my 
Divine Master. Besides, I am no better in His 
sight than the poorest and meanest of my breth- 
ren. So, urge me no more, dear sister; my mind 
is fully made up." 

" Oh ! well," said the girl, petulantly, " if it is 
all settled, it is, of course, useless to say anything 
more about it. But I give you fair warning, you 
must go alone. I am not going to give up home, 
friends, and everything else, for life in a little log- 
cabin, among boorish strangers and barbarous 
Indians. My convictions of duty are not so 
strong as that." 

"Very well, sister," said he, mildly, "you must 
do as you please ; though, of course, it would be 
much more pleasant to have my last living rela- 
tive with me. Besides, I shall not be entirely 
among strangers. Gerald Stanley and his wife, 
and her two lovely little girls, are there." 

" Gerald Stanley and his wife are no associates 
for me," said the girl, proudly. "Who are they? 
He was a mere clerk while here, and she our 



JAMES MORTON. 



95 



kitchen girl. You need not ask me to put myself 
on a level with that class of people " 

" Beware that your pride does not lead you to 
do them an injustice," said her brother, firmly. 
" Gerald Stanley, in all that goes to make up true 
manhood, is the peer of any one, and his wife a 
lady, by association with whom no one could be 
degraded. What if misfortune did force her into 
a menial position ? She was once the happy wife 
of one of the most promising young physicians of 
Boston, and I have yet to learn that, after his 
sudden and violent death, she in any way for- 
feited her claim to be considered and treated 
as a lady by every one. On the contrary, with 
patient resignation she accepted the hard lot 
which her poverty forced upon her, and, through 
all her years of lowly toil for the support of her- 
self and her two helpless little ones, she preserved 
unsullied the innate purity and refinement of 
character which always distinguished her. So, 
Laura, if you would not wound my feelings, say 
no more about my friends." 

" Oh ! of course you are welcome to claim them 
as your friends, only do not ask me to associate 
with them," said she, almost angrily. 

"I will not urge you to go now," he said, "to 
endure the hardships and privations you would 
have to meet ; but when I have prepared a com- 
fortable place for you, you will not refuse to come 
and share it with me, will you, sister mine ? I 
don't want to be separated forever from you." 



96 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

"We will see about that when the time comes, 
if ever," returned she; "but I predict that you 
will be sick of your parish in less than six months, 
and be glad to return to civilized life again." 

The opposition of his sister to James Morton's 
favorite scheme annoyed him sorely, for he had 
fondly hoped for her hearty concurrence. He felt 
that the place to which he was going afforded a 
boundless field for the good he was desirous of 
accomplishing in the service of his Redeemer; 
and to him the call of duty was stronger than any 
other tie, and thither he would go, regardless of 
any consequences to himself; and though he had 
not expected her hearty concurrence in his aban- 
donment of home and all its comforts, still he 
had not anticipated such bitter opposition. And 
the spirit manifested by her had given him no 
little concern, but still he was not to be dissuaded 
from what he deemed the plain path of duty, and 
so he went on his way alone. Before leaving 
home, however, he made every arrangement to 
provide for her comfort and security which his 
great love for her could suggest. A respectable 
and dignified old lady whom they had known for 
years, and in whose discretion and judgment 
James had the most unbounded confidence, was 
engaged as a companion and housekeeper for 
Laura ; and with her financial affairs intrusted to 
the management of an old friend of his father — a 
man of unsurpassed business ability and the 
most sterling integrity — James felt that his sis- 



JAMES MORTON. 



97 



ter's happiness and comfort were secured as far 
as they could be in his absence. 

But when the hour of parting came then it was 
that Laura realized the full force of the bereave- 
ment she was undergoing in this separation from 
her brother. Active memory recalled all the tales 
she had ever heard or read of Indian barbarities, 
and she could not persuade herself that this 
separation was aught but eternal in the world, 
and she almost repented having refused to go 
with him. In vain he talked to her of the pro- 
tecting care of Providence, and assured her that 
that care would be as fully extended to him in the 
wilderness as in the bustling streets of the crowd- 
ed city ; she had not his strong but simple faith, 
and she clung to him and wept as though her 
heart would break. But the parting word was 
spoken, and, with a heart strong in faith, and in 
the consciousness of doing his duty, but heavy 
at witnessing the sorrow of his sister, James Mor- 
ton turned his face in the direction of the setting 
sun, and resolutely set forward on his lonely 
pilgrimage. 

His destination was a little settlement near the 
center of the territory now known as the thriving 
young State of Iowa, but which was then little 
more than a howling wilderness, the majesty of 
whose primeval forests was only here and there 
broken in upon by the improvements of civilization. 
Some twenty families had there located in suf- 
ficient proximity to each other to afford some de- 
7 



98 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

gree of mutual protection against the savages and 
wild beasts with which the forest still abounded, 
and beneath their sturdy strokes the majestic 
monarchs of the forest were rapidly giving way to 
open fields clad with waving grain whose golden 
stores promised rich recompense for the care and 
labor bestowed by these hardy sons of toil. 

Within a radius of twenty or thirty miles there 
were four or five settlements of similar character, 
connected with the central one by mere bridle- 
paths, running hither and thither through the 
otherwise trackless wilderness ; and these consti- 
tuted the parish for the care of which James 
Morton had relinquished all the comforts of his 
luxurious Boston home. To have looked upon 
his slender physique one would have supposed 
him but illy fitted to endure the toil and hardship 
which a pastoral charge of such a nature would 
require ; but, with a firm and unyielding spirit, 
and the most sublime faith that his Master would 
yield him strength sufficient for his day, he 
entered upon the work to which he was assigned. 

In due time, and without any incidents worthy 
of special mention, he arrived at the central settle- 
ment, and was warmly welcomed by Gerald 
Stanley and his excellent wife. Indeed, almost 
the entire settlement turned out to do honor to his 
coming, for they had long been suffering for some 
one to break to them the bread of spiritual life, 
and when Stanley informed them that his efforts 
in that direction had secured the services of Mr. 



JAMES MORTON. 



99 



Morton — to whom, in the warmth of his friend- 
ship, he had assigned a character almost sublime 
in its goodness — the entire settlement had testified 
their joy and satisfaction in the most unequivocal, 
though simple, manner. 

The family of Gerald Stanley consisted, at this 
time, of himself, his wife, her two daughters — Effie 
and Ida — and an infant son. Mr. Morton, as 
the reader is aware, had been, in earlier years, 
somewhat intimately acquainted with Stanley and 
his wife, and the two girls had been special favor- 
ites of his. But two or three years had elapsed 
since he had seen them, and he was scarcely pre- 
pared for the changes which time had wrought 
in them ; for Effie was now a tall and graceful 
girl of fifteen, while the smaller, but more lithe 
and active figure of her sister (a year younger), 
was so unlike that he had dandled upon his knee 
in former days, that he could hardly realize she 
was the same. The warmth and cordiality of 
their greeting, however, dispelled all embarrass- 
ment arising from this cause, and soon made him 
feel entirely at his ease. 

Mrs. Stanley was a woman of rare good sense, 
judgment and discrimination, and, while training 
her daughters in the way that should fit them to 
act well their part in the rustic sphere in which 
they moved, she had by no means neglected those 
lighter accomplishments which lend such a charm 
to the female character. A small but excellently- 
selected library furnished the food for their minds, 



100 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

while in one corner of the little cabin — consisting 
of but two rooms below and two above — stood a 
small but exquisitely-toned melodeon, upon which 
lay several well-thumbed music books, showing 
that this pleasing and graceful accomplishment 
was well known and highly appreciated there. 
And, though their garments were neither of the 
finest material nor cut with the same scrupulous 
adherence to the mandates of fashion which 
marked those of his sister, Morton could not but 
think that, if Laura could see them as he saw 
them on the evening of his arrival, she would have 
foregone much of her hostility to the idea of asso- 
ciating with them. 

The first Sunday after the young minister's ar- 
rival was warm and pleasant, and it was deter- 
mined to have divine service in a wood near Mr. 
Stanley's residence. True, the little settlement 
had not been inattentive to the wants of the rising 
generation in the matter of education, for, on a 
level plat of ground near the center of the little 
circle, stood a schoolhouse, constructed, like the 
residences around it, of unhewn logs, and roofed 
with unshaved shingles ; but its dimensions were 
far too circumscribed to serve for purposes of wor- 
ship, save in case of absolute necessity. Accord- 
ingly, the congregation assembled upon the green- 
sward beneath the giant old oaks, to listen to the 
Word of Life. And when the young minister gave 
out the hymn, and the swelling anthem rose 
through the grand and verdant arches over their 



JAMES MORTON. 



101 



heads, many a heart was touched, and tears of joy 
and heavenly ecstasy welled up from full souls 
and flowed from eyes all unused to weeping. And 
when the sermon, which was a very eloquent and 
impressive one, from the text, " Blessed are they 
which do hunger and thirst after righteousness, for 
they shall be filled," was over, the entire audience 
crowded around to grasp the hand of the yoang 
minister, and testify their love for him. At once 
his empire in their hearts was established, and 
thus was his work inaugurated. 

And zealously, with humble Christian faith and 
patience, was that work pursued. From the state- 
ment already given of the bounds of his parish, 
the reader will readily understand that his office 
was no sinecure, but one of constant, laborious, 
unremitting toil. 

Traveling a large proportion of his time from 
settlement to settlement, through a country whose 
forests forbid any other or easier mode of convey- 
ance than the back of his faithful steed, exposed 
alike to summer's rain and winter's snow — for he 
never allowed any storm to be severe enough to 
deter him from keeping any appointment for 
divine service — after riding alone through the 
woods at midnight, surrounded on every hand by 
wild and ravenous beasts, whose bowlings almost 
curdled his blood with horror, he never shrunk 
from the demands of duty, but pursued his sacred 
calling with an earnest abnegation of self, second 



102 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

only to that displayed aforetime by the Lamb 
whose follower he was. 

The sturdy pioneers who were his church mem- 
bers, soon learned to know and appreciate at his 
true value their earnest and talented young pas- 
tor, and many a head already blossoming for the 
grave was bowed in simple, grateful homage to his 
goodness and steadfastness as the young man 
passed by, and many a hearty blessing from the 
Father of all was invoked upon his head, in the 
rustic homes which sheltered his beloved brethren. 
Again, were any of them sick, or in trouble or 
pain, of either body or mind — who could so easily 
and certainly relieve their pain as he ? Who so 
ready as he to listen to the tale of sorrow, and to 
impart the calm comfort which flows alone from 
the reliance upon the promises and trust in the 
kindness of the King of heaven. 

We have said that the young man was of slen- 
der and apparently delicate frame, and many of 
the rough old men who listened to his glowing 
words, and witnessed his arduous toil, gravely 
shook their heads and predicted that he would not 
endure long. But, as if in despite of their prog- 
nostications, James Morton kept on the even tenor 
of his way, laboring with unremitting zeal ; and 
the toil, instead of wearing him out, seemed but to 
more fully develop and strengthen his frame. His 
face became bronzed like those of the rough and 
bearded men by whom he was surrounded ; his 
whole nervous and muscular system glowed with 



JAMES MORTON. 



103 



Tenewed and increased strength and vigor, and he 
used laughingly to say that lie never knew he was 
alive until he came to the "West. 

What though the performance of his duty at 
times imposed most wearisome toil, until it almost 
seemed as though his wearied and worn frame 
could scarcely endure the tasks assigned it — what 
though he were drenched with summer's rains, or 
chilled with winter's frosts — what though the 
hours of rest became for him hours of toil and 
wakefulness ; he felt that he was doing the work 
of his Master, and so long as he was able to go at 
all, he never shrank from any labor, however 
severe or unseasonable it might be. 

In every labor of love or kindness to the afflicted 
and suffering, Mr. Morton found a most efficient 
co-worker in G-erald Stanley's daughter — for so he 
was wont to call her, though no drop of his blood 
flowed in her veins — Effie. Ida was equally kind 
with her sister, but she was younger and more 
careless than Effie ; she was more like the butter- 
fly, and less able to comprehend the more sorrow- 
ful phases of human life ; and though her heart 
was deeply touched by the sight of any kind of 
suffering, still the impression was but transient, 
and soon faded from her more evanescent nature. 
But Effie was calm and considerate ; she possessed 
a heart keenly alive to every phase of suffering, 
and she never seemed so happy as when minister- 
ing to the wants of afflicted humanity in some way 
or other. And many a midnight vigil of the 



104 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

young minister beside the couch of some poor 
creature, whose almost every gasp appeared his 
last, was cheered and made lighter by the pres- 
ence of Effie Meredith. 

No hand was ever so tender as hers to soothe 
the aching head ; none knew so well as she how to 
smooth the feverish pillow, or calm the fierce un- 
rest of one rendered delirious by pain and suffer- 
ing; none other could move with steps of equal 
agility and lightsomeness around the sick-room, 
and none could more readily divine the wants and 
necessities of the sick or more quickly supply 
them. And though the popularity of the young 
minister waned not a whit among his flock by rea- 
son of her presence, still it seemed that his work 
was but half done unless he was accompanied by 
the cheerful, golden-haired maiden who was so 
generally his attendant. 

And thus, in traveling, preaching, and minister- 
ing to the sick and the afflicted, consoling and 
praying with the dying, and whispering words of 
kindness and encouragement to the awakened sin- 
ner, the time passed away until James Morton had 
been five years in his new home. It were vain to 
tell all the changes which had taken place in that 
time, even if it were in our power to do so. 

The little settlement of fifteen or twenty families 
had grown into a thriving little village, in whose 
midst the busy tread of commerce, and the buz- 
zing, thriving whirr of machinery were already 
heard ; the little log school-house had given way 



JAMES MORTON". 



105 



to a neat, white edifice of more pretentious dimen- 
sions, but which scarcely sufficed to furnish suffi- 
cient accommodation for the throng of happy 
children who wended their way thither with each 
returning morn; and upon the very spot which 
witnessed the gathering for worship upon that first 
Sunday, a fine church, erected by the exertions of 
the minister, seconded by the generous contribu- 
tions of his parishioners, reared its white spire 
toward heaven in stately majesty, pointing the 
beholder to the home of the blessed. 

Nor was this all. The bridle-paths by which 
the young clergyman formerly passed from settle- 
ment to settlement to fulfill his appointments, had 
given way to roads that admitted the passage of 
wheeled vehicles and rendered traveling less labo- 
rious than formerly ; the forests seemed less dense 
and impenetrable ; the wild beasts, pushed stead- 
ily back before the advancing hosts of civiliza- 
tion's forces, no longer made night hideous with 
their howls or excited the fears of the nervous trav- 
eler; the country presented, more and more, the 
appearance of the older communities ; and even 
the project of constructing a railroad to some point 
on the Mississippi River had begun to be agitated. 

During all this time James Morton had contin- 
ued an inmate of Gerald Stanley's family ; and 
though, with the influx of population, other clergy- 
men had come and relieved him of the pastoral 
care of those more distant settlements which had 
formerly claimed his attention, still he found am- 



106 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



pie employment among the increasing numbers of 
the village where he was located, and in no single 
iota was his zeal abated. And gloriously had the 
Lord prospered the work of his hands in this part 
of the vineyard. When he first came among this 
people, a score of communicants were all that could 
be gathered to the feast commemorative of the 
sufferings and death of the Saviour ; but now the 
church bore upon its rolls the names of nearly two 
hundred members, while not a few dusky sons of 
the forest had surrendered their wild and warlike 
propensities in obedience to the mild and peaceful 
teachings of Prince Immanuel. And still, surely 
and steadly the good work was going on, and day 
by day the Master made additions to this branch 
of Zion of such as should be saved. 

Throughout these entire years James had main- 
tained a correspondence with his sister ; and 
though, for the first year or two, she had not 
ceased to importune him to return to Boston, iter- 
ating and reiterating the arguments she had so 
vainly urged against his coming West in the first 
instance, of late a different tone had pervaded her 
letters. She now began to intimate a wish to join 
him in what he termed his " Paradise of the 
West," and at last said plainly that, as soon as 
he was prepared for her, she would come on. 

Without a word of intimation to any one, not 
even to the kind family with whom he had been 
domiciled, James immediately procured a suitable 
plat of ground in one of the pleasantest localities 



JAMES MORTON. 



107 



of the village, and set about the erection of a 
house; — not that he had any special object in 
keeping secret the fact that his sister was coming, 
but he was so much engrossed with the duties of 
his position, to which were now superadded the 
cares of building, that it never occurred to him to 
speak of the probable tenant of his house when it 
should be completed. 

And thus the work went on, and as it ap- 
proached completion, the wise ones began to 
shake their heads knowingly and approvingly, 
and whisper of a wedding in Gerald Stanley's 
family ; for the village gossips had long since set- 
tled it, to their entire satisfaction, that James 
Morton and Effie Meredith were to be married, and 
some had even gone so far as to fix the day and 
settle the color and texture of the bride's dress on 
the important occasion. And for a wonder be it 
said that this match, thus arranged without the 
knowledge or concurrence of either of the parties 
most interested, was one with which nobody found 
any fault. Morton and Effie were both such favor- 
ites in the community that no one thought of 
questioning their fitness for each other, or that 
there was anybody else in the village who were fit 
companions, through life, for either of them. "In- 
deed," as one old lady said, "heaven seemed to 
have designed them expressly for each other." 

But, while rumor was thus busy linking them 
together in indissoluble bonds, they themselves 
were all unconsciously pursuing their accustomed 



108 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



avocations, and giving no thought to the subject 
which was uppermost in every one else's mind. 
Each, perchance, was as yet entirely unconscious 
of anything like love for the other ; or, it may be, 
that, although each was well aware of the good 
qualities of the other, no such feeling as actual, 
active love existed in their souls. That, deep in 
the heart of each were implanted all the elements 
of love for the other, there is no doubt ; but as yet 
nothing had occurred to develop it. The sacrifice 
was arranged in due order on the altar of the 
heart of each, but as yet the fire had not been 
lighted whereby the mass was to be kindled into 
flame. But the time was speedily coming. 

One lovely summer afternoon, when a slight fall 
of rain had laid the dust and cooled the atmos- 
phere somewhat, Morton asked Effie to walk over 
and look at his house, so soon to be ready for its 
new occupant. She readily complied, and in a few 
moments they were on their way thither — James, 
however, still unaccountably making no allusion 
to the one who was to share it with him. 

As they approached the house, they were 
startled at hearing some one within singing, in a 
wild, weird voice, a simple ditty, whose plaintive 
strains thrilled the hearts of the listeners — so 
piteous was their language, and so feelingly and 
touchingly were they trilled upon the evening air. 

"That is poor Jane Wentworth," said Morton, 
when they had recovered a little from their aston- 
ishment; u she seems to have taken possession of 



JAMES MORTON. 



109 



my house, and right royally is she bidding the 
owner welcome." 

" Poor creature," said Effie, with a half sigh, 
"how my heart bleeds for her. The wealth of this 
world would not tempt me to exchange places with 
her; to be shut out, even partially as she is, from 
the calm, clear light of reason: and, as it were, to 
grope my way through life with no just apprecia- 
tion of the beautiful and the good which His hand 
has strewn in such profusion all around us." 

"ISTo, indeed," replied James, feelingly. "To be 
deprived of reason — the mind, as it were, a great 
void of impenetrable darkness, and incapable of 
comprehending what the Father has done for His 
children, or of understanding the love which has 
surrounded them with everything lovely and beau- 
tiful here, which has provided for their eternal 
happiness hereafter, seems to me the most terrible 
fate which can befall a human being." 

"Yes," responded the tender-hearted girl, "I 
never see poor Jane without wishing, vainly it is 
true, that I could do something for her. And then 
to see thoughtless and unfeeling boys mocking at 
and making sport of the poor creature on account 
of that very deprivation which should excite com- 
miseration instead of mirth, almost makes me 
angry." 

" True, it is wrong, but in this instance her par- 
tial insanity is a blessing to her ; for while it ex- 
cites the mirthfulness of the school-boys, it also 
shields her from the pain which their reprehensi- 



110 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

We conduct would otherwise inflict. Do you know 
anything of the circumstances which produced her 
present mental condition?" 

" Nothing reliable," she replied. " I have heard 
two or three stories about it, but do not know that 
any of them are correct." 

" I, too, have heard several different accounts of 
the matter," said the young minister, "but have 
never felt free to make any inquiries of her brother 
concerning it. The matter must be a somewhat 
delicate one." 

"I think so, and for that reason I have never 
mentioned it, notwithstanding my intimacy with 
the Wentworths." 

" She is never violent or dangerous, I believe ? " 
said Morton, in an interrogative manner. 

"No, she is entirely harmless," said Effie, "and 
her partial insanity injures no one but herself." 

By this time they had entered the unfinished 
house, and stood in the presence of the poor crea- 
ture whose misfortunes had so excited their sym- 
pathy. She was clad in garments whose fantastic 
arrangement and style, at the first glance, be- 
trayed the feebleness of the lamp which burned 
within, while her vacant, meaningless stare, told 
but too plainly of the fearful darkness which filled 
her mind. As soon as she saw the new-comers 
she made them a most profound obeisance. 

"Welcome home," said she. "I have labored 
all the night long to fit the house in a suitable 
manner for the dwelling of the evangelist and his 



JAMES MORTON. 



Ill 



bride, and just as my work is finished, here they 
come. Happiness and long life attend you both, 
and may the Lord bless and prosper you abund- 
antly." 

Morton and Effie looked at each other in some 
surprise, while the color mounted into the face of 
each at this strange salutation. Jane continued: 

"Come hither, my sweet mistress, and see how 
nicely I have arranged your private apartments. 
Everything has been done under my personal 
supervision, and I trust it will suit you." 

Effie knew not what to say. Her color came and 
went, while her heart beat with fearful violence, 
and her agitation was so great that she could 
scarcely stand. And all the time the half-crazed 
creature, unconscious of the confusion she was 
producing, still rattled on. At last Effie turned 
with a sort of imploring look to Morton, whose 
confusion was scarcely less than her own. 

"Let us go away from here," she whispered. 

Without a word he offered her his arm, and they 
left the house. In silence they walked home, for 
both were too much occupied with their own 
thoughts to converse. The words of crazy Jane 
had awakened a new train of reflections in the 
mind of each, which effectually excluded every 
other topic. Effie was silently commenting, in the 
most unfavorable manner, upon the emotions 
which the fancies of the maniac had caused her to 
display, and James was thinking of the many 
times they had together ministered to the wants 



112 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

of the sick and suffering — endeavoring to analyze 
his feelings toward her, and thinking how pleas- 
ant it would be to have her walk by his side 
through life, and, more efficiently even than she 
had heretofore done, aid him in the work of his 
ministry. 

The shades of evening had fallen ere they 
reached Gerald Stanley's house, and the family 
were assembled in the little sitting-room, where 
lights were already gleaming; for the humble 
cabin in which we first introduced them to the 
reader had given way to a house which, though 
far from princely in its dimensions, was vastly 
more comfortable than the one they then occupied. 

As they stepped upon the little porch at the 
front of the house, James laid his hand upon her 
arm, and gently detaining her, drew her to a seat. 

"Pray sit here a moment, Effie," said he, "I 
have something to say to you." 

The unusual tenderness of his voice told the girl 
what to expect, and, trembling with emotion, she 
sank into the seat toward which he impelled her. 
And then he told her how he had watched her 
course and studied her character until he had be- 
come satisfied that she was necessary to his hap- 
piness through life ; how his life had been lonely 
since his early youth for the want of some con- 
genial spirit to cheer and comfort him in the bat- 
tle of life, and finally asked her to walk by his 
side and share his humble lot. And when he had 
finished the simple story, so often told, and yet 



JAMES MORTON. 



113 



ever new, Effie placed her hand in his and prom- 
ised, God willing, to be to him a true, loving and 
faithful co-laborer in the vineyard of the Lord so 
long as they both should live. And thus, with no 
witnesses save the silent stars and the all-seeing 
eye of God, they plighted to each other their sol- 
emn faith. 

The next morning Mr. Morton sought an inter- 
view with Gerald Stanley and his wife, related to 
them the scene enacted on the porch the evening 
before, and craved their consent to, and blessing 
upon, the contemplated union ; and it is needless 
to add that they were cheerfully and heartily 
granted, for it was but a consummation for which 
they had ardently wished. 

By the first mail James dispatched a letter to 
his sister informing her of the approaching mar- 
riage. It must be confessed, however, that it was 
with some misgivings that he entreated her to be 
present at the nuptials and give them her bless- 
ing, for he had not forgotten the almost contempt- 
uous manner in which she had spoken of the fam- 
ily of his betrothed, and, though he had spared no 
pains since he came West to convince her of their 
true worth, he was still not a little fearful of the 
effect of her well-remembered pride of birth and 
station. 

But for once he unwittingly did his sister injus- 
tice by his fears. Although candor obliges us to 
confess that she read the intelligence with a little 
sigh of regret, and would much rather his choice 

8 



114 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

had fallen upon some one of the more wealthy, 
and, as she imagined, more refined young ladies 
of her acquaintance in Boston, now that the mat- 
ter was settled she felt that it was worse than use- 
less to try to alter it ; and, with true nobleness of 
feeling, she made no objection to the match, 
wisely resolving not to embitter his happiness by 
unavailing remonstrances ; and when James Mor- 
ton received her reply he was not a little delighted 
to find it replete with sisterly affection, warm- 
hearted congratulations, and earnest, sincere 
wishes for the happiness of himself and his bride 
in their new relation. She also promised to come 
to him some time before the wedding-day, which 
was fixed for the 12th of the ensuing December. 

In due time Laura Morton came ; and, if she had 
resolved to love Enie Meredith for the sake of her 
brother, she found a double incentive to that love 
in the beauty, refinement and genuine worth of 
Effie herself. Indeed, she half-laughingly and 
half in earnest told her brother that had she 
known his Western forests abounded in such ra r ~ 
fiowers as he had chosen, she would not have re- 
mained shut up in Boston as long as she had. 

The all-important day at last arrived, and when 
James Morton and Effie Meredith — in the same 
church which had so often rung with the eloquence 
of his warnings and the fervor of his exhortations 
— in the presence of a large part of his flock, stood 
up and assumed the vows which bound them 
together for life, not one in the audience but said 



JAMES MORTON. 



115 



it was meet thus to blend in unison the lives of 
those who had, for so many years, been co-workers 
in everything that was good and lovely. It was, 
indeed, a day of general rejoicing throughout the 
entire village, for both the bride and groom were 
universally known, and as universally loved and 
respected. And the village gossips, who had so 
long predicted this consummation, now shook their 
heads, more wondrously wise than ever, and, evi- 
dently pleased with their superior sagacity, 
gravely whispered to each other, "I told you so." 

Years have passed since that happy day, and 
still James and Effie are walking hand in hand 
along the vale of time, and cheerfully performing 
the tasks allotted by His command, never, for a 
single moment, regretting the linking of their for- 
tunes together. But they tread not the pathway 
of life alone. Children — three in number — have 
come to bless and bind them more closely to- 
gether; and in training them to be like herself, 
Effie finds ample employment as well as enjoy- 
ment. They still reside in the village, now grown 
to a flourishing city, which witnessed the young 
clergyman's first efforts to disseminate the Gospel 
of Christ, and he still presides over the church 
founded, through his instrumentality, nearly a 
quarter of a century ago. 

Gerald Stanley has for some time been gathered 
to his fathers, and his widow, beloved and re- 
spected by all, quietly awaits, by the fireside of 
her son-in-law's home, the summons to join him 



116 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

in the spirit land. Ida was married a few years 
since to a talented and successful young lawyer, 
while Laura has been, for about the same length 
of time, the happy wife of an honorable and pros- 
perous young merchant of her native city. And 
so, dear reader, our simple narrative is ended. 

1 * Fearless the wilderness he trod — 
He, Israel's chosen guide ; 
Nor ever lost his faith in God, 
Though full severely tried. ' * 



VI. 



PLAIN WORDS FOR HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 

One of the most charming phases in which a 
woman can be presented to the eyes of man, is in 
her position as the neat, tidy, cheerful, and order- 
ly mistress of a well-regulated household. Under 
such circumstances only, save in a few exceptional 
cases, so rare as not to materially interfere with 
the general rule, does man behold woman in the 
true sphere which, in the words of the Divine 
Creator, she was destined to occupy — that of " an 
help meet for him." It is true that woman may, 
and often does, in other situations and other call- 
ings, display qualities which excite the admira- 
tion or even challenge the envy of lookers-on ; but, 
after all, even while admiring the shining corusca- 
tions which flash in luminous brilliancy around 
her, no one can help feeling, down deep in their 
inmost souls, the secret consciousness that such a 
woman is not a being to be loved in the sense in 
which men of pure and upright moral sentiments 
desire to love the gentler sex. The world may ad- 
mire and applaud such women, may even court 
and flatter them ; but they do not, and will not 

(117) 



118 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

love them as women desire to be loved, and as it 
is meet they should be. 

I have often thought that men and women, es- 
pecially after their marriage, do not keep suffi- 
ciently in view the cultivation of that divine prin- 
ciple which permeates all nature in its pristine 
state of purity, and which the inspired writer has 
told us is the essence of the Great Head of all 
things. " God is love," saith the apostle ; and 
just in proportion as we cultivate, and strengthen, 
and develop pure, holy, and undefiled love for all 
around us, so do we approximate the light of the 
divine atmosphere, and increase our own happi- 
ness. 

But how often, nay, we might almost say how 
generally is it the case that husband and wife, in- 
sensibly as it were, lose sight of this great princi- 
ple, apparently forgetting that the very trifles, 
once deemed so essential to the winning of affec- 
tion, are tenfold more essential to its preservation. 
This fatal mistake finds expression in the appar- 
ently meaningless but really pregnant remark, so 
often carelessly made and as thoughtlessly heard, 
" No difference, my market is made," in excuse 
for some carelessness in dress, demeanor, or de- 
portment. There is no one of the many careless 
expressions of the day which, insensibly to the 
utterer perhaps, indicates the existence of feelings 
and thoughts more at war with the true happiness 
of married life than this hackneyed phrase. I 
never hear it used without feeling a strong inclin- 



PLAIN WORDS FOR HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 119 

ation to ask the utterer if that is the whole end 
and aim of existence — to make a market, or, in 
other words, to marry? And the affirmative an- 
swer, which even the careless use of the phrase 
would seem to imply, never fails to indicate, to 
rny mind, the possession of ideas which, sooner or 
later, will produce shipwreck of all the happiness 
which Providence designed should accompany the 
marriage relation. And too often, alas ! is it the 
case, that when the wreck has been accomplished, 
the poor victims fail to perceive or realize the 
causes by which it was produced. If I shall 
succeed, in this article, in calling attention to, 
and awakening reflection upon, the causes which 
bear so large a part in rendering unhappy so 
many marriages which, in the outset, promised 
such different results, then I shall not have writ- 
ten in vain. 

When a young lady receives the serious atten- 
tions of a gentleman who is deemed " eligible," 
or who has succeeded in awakening some degree 
of interest in her heart, if she has one, with what 
scrupulous care does she strive to avoid any and 
everything which might have the least tendency 
to drive him from her side. What nice attention 
to the minutest trifles of dress does she pay ! 
With what cautious precision does she arrange 
her shining tresses when her suitor is expected to 
make a call or spend the evening with her! If, 
perchance, she permits her lover to see her in any- 
thing short of full dress, it is only in that de- 



120 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



lightful negligee which, by its charming appear- 
ance of elegant carelessness but too surely indi- 
cates the nicest attention. Her countenance, too^ 
wreathed in smiles, and the tones of her voice 
modulated to the gentle pitch of love, lend their 
aid to the attractions of dress, to ensnare and 
captivate the heart of the comer. 

We have no fault to find with this, so long as 
no artifice, or, as it may with equal or greater pro- 
priety be called, falsehood, is resorted to. To love 
and be loved, and thereby to promote her own and 
the happiness of all with whom she comes in con- 
tact, is the true end which every woman should 
keep in view. By this means, too, her power for 
good in the world is immeasurably increased. 
And anything which tends to make her more lov- 
able, so long as it does not offend against the 
innate purity and refinement of her character, is 
in the highest degree commendable. 

But what I do find fault with is this : The 
maiden who, during her courtship, has been 
naught but smiles and neatness, too often subsides 
after marriage into the fretful, complaining, slip- 
shod wife, utterly forgetting and ignoring the im- 
portance of that attention to trifles which, per- 
haps, first attracted the notice and won the love of 
him whom she now calls husband. Depend upon 
it, when this is the case, the end of your dream of 
happiness is not far distant. Love and confidence 
are easy to win, but hard to keep; and if you 
would retain, in all its .fervor and freshness, the 



PLAIN WORDS FOR HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 121 

love of your husband — accorded to you when he 
was your lover — you must relax no one of the 
efforts by which you first enchanted him. 

If, instead of the cheerful, neatly-dressed, even- 
tempered woman whom he courted, he finds that 
he has married a fretful, repining, soulless slat- 
tern, how long think you his love will be proof 
against the repulsiveness of character which your 
altered demeanor presents? He may not utter any 
complaints — perhaps it would be not only boot- 
less, but unmanly to do so — but, depend upon it, 
he will not fail to contrast your present slovenly 
appearance with that of the neat, tidy girl whom 
he courted, and the contrast, too often repeated, 
can not fail, in the end, to tell with fearful effect 
upon his respect and affection for you, and, con- 
sequently upon your own happiness. 

Nor is this the only mode in which the affec- 
tion he once felt for you will be sapped and under- 
mined by a course of conduct so pernicious. 
When he finds his wife so sadly different from 
what his fancy painted her before marriage, he 
feels that he has been imposed upon and de- 
ceived : his self-love is wounded, and that feeling 
naturally and necessarily produces something 
very much akin to antipathy toward the one by 
whom he has been thus, as it were, outwitted ; 
and, in a conflict between that love which alone 
can insure the happiness of a truly virtuous and 
right-minded wife, and such a feeling thus engen- 
dered, the result can not be long doubtful. 



122 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



No, no, my sisters, it will not do, with the close 
of the season of courtship, to relax any of the 
means by which you have rendered yourselves at- 
tractive during that season. What though your 
mansion be not as elegant, or furnished with as 
costly and convenient appliances as those of your 
more fortunate neighbors ; you can at least ar- 
range what furniture you have with a regard ^to 
neatness, order and comfort, which will present an 
appearance of home, and, to the eye of your hus- 
band, an attractiveness for which he would seek 
in vain in the magnificent though ill-arranged par- 
lors of the wealthy. What though no magnificent 
tapestry of Brussels covers your floors ! you can 
make the naked boards, or the humble rag carpet, 
so conspicuous for cleanness and neatness that the 
absence of the other will not be noticed. What 
matters it that the best dress in your limited ward- 
robe is a calico or a simple muslin ! by making it 
up and putting it on in a becoming manner, and 
dressing your hair with the taste you were wont to 
display before your marriage, you have it in your 
power to render yourself more attractive to him 
than if you wore, in a careless and slovenly man- 
nor, robes of the richest satin. 

Again, when your husband comes home wearied 
and worn with the toils and vexations of business, 
do you meet him with the smiling, cheerful coun- 
tenance with which you were wont to greet him 
before the wedding day, and which is a sure anti- 
dote to weariness of either body or mind? Are 



PLAIN WORDS FOR HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 123 

your tones as sweetly modulated and attuned to 
the harmonies of love as when you stood in your 
father's door to bid the lover "good evening?" 
Or— weakly yielding, perchance, to the cares and 
vexations which your position as mistress of the 
household necessarily impose upon you — do you 
meet him with either a frowning or indifferent 
countenance, while your voice is pitched to the 
sharp key of fretful complaining at your hard lot? 

If you fail in any or all of these things, be as- 
sured that his home will cease to present to him 
those attractions with which the word " home " is 
naturally associated in the human mind ; he will 
go abroad in search of those pleasures which are 
denied him beside his own hearth-stone ; other 
voices will sound more sweetly in his ears than 
yours, and when this point has been reached, then 
has sounded the knell of all your happiness. 

What if your limbs are at times wearied with 
toil, or your mind vexed and annoyed by the nec- 
essary cares of your household, or the nurture and 
education of your children !— remember that yours 
is by no means an exceptional case, but that toil 
and weariness, and vexation, have been the com- 
mon lot of mortals ever since the expulsion of our 
first parents from Eden; and that, by your fretful- 
ness and repining, you are but adding to your own 
burdens, instead of detracting from them, and at 
the same time destroying the happiness which 
might otherwise be yours. 

Then banish fear and vexation from your 



124 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

countenance ; meet your husband as you did in 
the days before your marriage ; if necessary that 
any faulty arrangement of household matters be 
corrected, or any additional comfort procured, 
speak of it candidly, freely, but cheerfully, not 
complainingly ; and, my word for it, you will be 
a thousand times repaid in the increased love of 
your husband and his more active efforts to pro- 
mote your happiness. 

These matters may seem like trifles, but, believe 
me, it is of just such trifles that the sum total of 
human happiness is made up. I am well aware 
of the self-denial and mental control which the 
proper discharge of the duties of a wife demands 
at her hands ; I have been a wife myself, and I 
know fall well that the position is by no means 
devoid of responsibility, and care, and vexation ; 
but after all, what is life but one constant scene of 
toil, and care, and vexation — calling at all times 
for the exercise of the most unwearied patience 
and self-denial? And how foolish it seems to 
sacrifice all the happiness one has a right to 
anticipate in this world for want of the exercise 
of these virtues ! 

On the other hand, how often is it the case that 
husbands are equally responsible with their wives 
for the failure to enjoy the happiness which 
Providence designed to bestow on his creatures, 
by the establishment of the marriage relation ! It 
were vain and unjust to say that either party is 
alone to blame for the pitiable discords so un- 



PLAIN WORDS FOR, HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 125 

happily and painfully prevalent in the family 
circles, not only of our own, but of every civilized 
land beneath the sun. 

If your wife sometimes fails to pursue that course 
hest calculated to promote your happiness and 
hers, are you sure that you make less fatal mis- 
takes than she ? If she, by the want of a cheer- 
ful and sunny disposition, fails to make home 
pleasant and attractive, is it not just possible that 
you tend to increase the gloom there prevailing 
by bringing into it, in your lowering face, the 
history of the toils and conflicts of the day's 
business ? Can you expect her to meet you 
with a cheerful, smiling countenance when your 
own is gloomy and forbidding? 

Again, is your voice always pitched to the 
same tender key which pervaded its notes before 
the character of lover had been merged in that 
of husband? Or has it assumed a harsher, more 
mandatory and dictatorial tone, as though the 
promise on her part to obey were all there was of 
the marriage covenant? Do you at all times look 
upon and treat your wife as your peer, as 
in the economy of God's providences she is? or 
have you been wont to consider her, as she is de- 
fined by human laws to be, as your servant, and 
yourself as her lord and master? 

When she has made some unusual or extra 
effort to please you — has prepared some dish of 
which she knows you to be more than usually 
fond — have you acknowledged her kindness, and 



126 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

her efforts to promote your happiness, in a suit- 
able manner? or have you accepted such courte- 
sies with ungracious silence, as though they 
were due to the superior position you occupy in 
the world? Are you in the habit of suitably 
commending, by word, look or action, any effort 
on her part to increase the cheerfulness or at- 
tractive character of home ? 

Have you fallen into the mistake — alas ! too 
common with men hardened by the rougher and 
sterner conflicts of life, and sharpened by mingling 
with the bustle and turmoil of the commercial 
world — of thinking that the position of a wife is 
innocent of care and labor ; and frowned and fret- 
ted in impatient complaining because some trifle, 
which the multiplicity of her duties has driven 
from her mind, or has not allowed her to reach in 
its order, has been left undone ? Have you failed 
to realize and appreciate the fact that her life, 
like your own, is one of never-ending, ever-recur- 
ring toil, and care, and anxiety, differing from 
yours, perchance, in kind and degree, but none 
the less constant, trying and absorbing? Have 
you made her happiness, ease and comfort, your 
care and study equally with your own ? or have 
you sunk into a sort of apathetic, unthinking 
selfishness, which consults only your own con- 
venience, leaving her lot to adopt what hue or 
complexion it may ? 

If you have done these or any of these things, 
you need not be surprised if they have produced 



PLAIN WORDS FOR HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 127 

in your wife the precise effects we have deprecat- 
ed in the former part of this article ; and rendered 
her, instead of the cheerful, sunny being, diffusing 
light and warmth throughout every part of your 
abode, whether magnificent or humble, a morose 
and sullen recluse, whose gloom banishes any and 
everthing like happiness from your threshold. 

Indeed, it would be almost miraculous were it 
otherwise. The lives of husbands and wives are 
so closely interwoven, linked and blended to- 
gether, that neither can, without the most dis- 
astrous consequences to the happiness of both, do, 
or say, or think anything calculated to disturb 
the harmony which should exist between them, 
and which accords with the Divine plan. "They 
twain shall be one flesh," is the language of Holy 
Writ; and, as any disorder, however small, in 
any portion of the physical body, produces more 
or less suffering in every other part, so in the 
spiritual body of the life of husband and wife, 
any discord must produce more or less pain. 

True it is that, in one sense, their lives are 
diverse from each other — each has a separate 
work to do amid the toils of life — each has 
their allotted path to pursue ; but it is when 
the labors of the day are ended, and they meet 
upon the same plane within the sacred confines 
of the home circle, that their lives converge into 
one channel ; and then, if their minds, their souls, 
are attuned to proper melodies, they flow on in 
unbroken harmony, into the boundless sea of 



128 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE . 

happiness which the Creator has placed within 
the reach of all. This should be the hour of re- 
laxation, of the true happiness of married life. 
See to it, then, husband and wife, that by the 
proper exercise of a spirit of self-denial and for- 
bearance, and by judicious watchfulness, you 
suffer no disturbing element to be brought from 
either of your separate walks into the common 
channel, but sternly leave all such behind. So 
shall the current of your lives flow on in serene 
and peaceful joy, and you possess the full measure 
of happiness with which the wisdom and benefi- 
cence of the Almighty designed to invest the 
married state. 



VII. 

BEGGAR BILL; OR, THE SILVER DOLLAR. 

A TEUE STORY, KNOWN BY THE AUTHOR. 

Several years — I know not how many — of my 
early life were passed in want, and misery, and 
wretchedness, in one of the lowest and most de- 
graded localities in Cincinnati. Of my parent- 
age I knew nothing. I had no idea whether the 
man who kicked, and the woman who beat and 
starved me, were my father and mother or not, 
but I know that my heart never went out in 
love toward them, and they never manifested 
the slightest affection for me. The only endear- 
ments I ever received at their hands were curses 
and blows, and of these I was certain to have 
plenty whenever I returned unsuccessful from 
the begging or stealing expeditions upon which 
I was daily sent out, unless — which was not un- 
frequently the case — they were too drunk to 
notice my coming in. When this was the case, 
I used to steal away to the pile of straw which 
served as my bed, and thank my lucky stars for 
my escape from the fate which I well knew would 
otherwise have been meted out to me. 

9 (129) 



130 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



Nor do I know how my parents — for such I was 
wont to call them — gained a livelihood. It is true 
that in the low den, in the cellar which they in- 
habited, I often saw cards and dice played for 
small sums of money, and sometimes witnessed 
scenes even darker and more fearful than this ; 
but certainly the sums derived from this source 
were too small to afford even the precarious sub- 
sistence we had. I know that I was daily sent 
out to beg or steal, whichever might be most con- 
venient or promise the best returns ; and I always 
supposed their hours above ground were employed 
in the same way. I know that on several occa- 
sions pieces of fine goods, silk and the like, found 
their way into our den, and were sold at prices 
which even then seemed to me shockingly below 
their real value; but whence they came, or how 
obtained, I never knew nor cared to know. 

Reared amid such influences and such surround- 
ings, what wonder that I grew wild and hard and 
reckless, and that when I had reached, as I sup- 
pose, the age of twelve or fourteen years, I was 
ready for any crime, and that I was frequently 
the principal actor in scenes which I now re- 
call only with a shudder ! Indeed, how could 
it have been otherwise? Up to this time my 
life had been passed in the most squalid and 
dreary filth and ignorance ; the only training I 
had ever received had been of a character to de- 
moralize and plunge me deeper and deeper in vice 
and wickedness ; no one had ever spoken a word 



BEGGAR BILL. 



131 



of love to me or attempted to elevate or encourage 
me in any way ; no one had ever sought to excite 
any laudable ambition in my mind ; no one had 
ever held out the golden bow of promise and hope 
to me; — but, on the contrary, I had ever been 
sneered at as a beggar and an outcast, and had 
come to consider myself as a thing too low and 
worthless almost to have an existence among men. 

Ah ! there can not be a sadder or more pitiable 
object than a child in whose young life the light 
of hope has been quenched out of existence by the 
frowns and sneers of adversity, and the mocking 
taunts and sarcasm of unthinking or unprincipled 
men and women — nothing which appeals with 
greater force to the feelings and sympathies of 
every right-minded man or woman, and nothing 
has been more deeply impressed upon my mind, 
during the course of my life, than this important 
truth. There are no surer means of sending a 
child to perdition, both temporally and eternally, 
than to convince him that he is neither loved, 
respected, nor cared for by anybody. Oh ! then, 
beware, ye thoughtless mortals, how, by your 
gibes and sneers at the pinched and half-famished 
little ones who throng the thoroughfares of our 
large cities, you generate in their little hearts the 
feeling that they are moral and social outcasts, 
lest in the last great day a most fearful accounta- 
bility be brought against you! But, to return to 
my story. 

One day I was on the street, as usual, looking 



132 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



out for a chance to beg or steal something, when a 
fine carriage stopped just in front of me, and a 
gentleman, clad in a plain suit of black, alighted. 
He called me to him, and said : 

"My boy, will you be so kind as to hold my 
horse for half an hour or so ? " 

"Yes, sir," I replied; and I think it was the 
first time I had ever answered a question with so 
much politeness, simply because no one had ever 
addressed me so kindly before. 

" That's a good boy," said he. " What is your 
name ? " 

"Bill," said I. 

" William, you mean, do you not ? " 
"No, sir; Bill is my name." 
"Bill what?" said he. "What is your other 
name ? " 

" I hain't got no other name. Just ' Bill ' is all 
the name I've got." 

"What is your father's name ? " 

" Hain't got none, nor no mother. I live with 

Tom and Sal, down on street, but they ain't 

my father and mother." 

" Well, William," said he, kindly, " take good 
care of my carriage, and don't let any one disturb 
the fruit in it. Here are some apples for you." 

" Thank you," I said, I think for the first time 
in my life, and he went away. 

He had been gone but a short time, when three 
or four of my cronies came along, and, seeing me 
holding the horse, stopped and hailed me. 



BEGGAR BILL. 



133 



" Halloo, Bill," said one, "what have you got 
there ? " 

" I am holding this horse for a very nice gentle- 
man," said I. 

" What's in the carriage? " said he, coming np 
so he could look in. "Apples, by Jove ! Come, 
boys, we'll have a treat ; " and he advanced as if 
to help himself to the fruit. 

"No, you won't," said I, stepping between him 
and the carriage ; " this gentleman left me to take 
care of his things, and you shall not touch one of 
them if I can help it." 

" Who are you ? " said the fellow, roughly, 
thinking he could do as he pleased, because he 
was older and larger than I was. " Bill, you mis- 
erable beggar, what do you mean ? Just stand 
out of the way, you thief, or I'll see who is boss 
here, pretty quick. I tell you I am going to have 
some of these apples." 

"And I tell you," retorted I, " that you can't get 
any, unless you lick me first, and that you ain't 
big enough to do." 

" We'll soon see," said he ; and with that he 
struck me a violent blow, and knocked me down. 

Just then the owner of the carriage made his 
appearance, and the boys scampered away. 

"Why, Willie!" said he; "what is this? 
Fighting, are you? What does this mean ? " 

" Oh, nothing, sir," said I ; " only them boys 
came to steal some of your apples, and I was 
bound they should not have a cursed one of them, 



134 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

and so we got into a little fight. But they didn't 
get any, after all ; though, may be, they would if 
you hadn't come up just when you did. There 
was too many of them for me, I guess." 

"And so you have got a black eye for taking 
care of my property ? " said he. 

" Yes, sir ; but that's nothing," I replied. 

u Well, Willie," said he, " you have been a good 
boy, and here is a silver dollar for you. Now, 
Willie," he continued, in a grave and kindly tone, 
" I want you to promise me never to swear any 
more. • And, Willie, I want you to be a good boy 
and come to church and Sunday-school, and learn 
about Christ, who died for the sins of the whole 
world. Will you try to be a good boy, Willie?" 

" Yes, sir," I answered, my heart full almost to 
weeping, for those words of kindness and friendly 
interest — almost the first I had ever heard — had 
touched my feelings deeply. 

" Well, if you will try earnestly, you will surely 
succeed," said my new-found friend. " God will 
help you if you will only do the best you can. 
And I will see you sometimes, and will do all I 
can for you. Will you come to church to-morrow, 
Willie ? " 

"Yes, sir, if you will only tell me where to go," 
I answered. 

" Then, come to the little brown church, at the 

corner of and streets. I will be there, 

and will see you. And now, good-bye," said he, 
stepping into the carriage. 



BEGGAR BILL. 



135 



This little circumstance was the turning-point of 
my life. Hitherto I had been neglected, friend- 
less, and uncared-for ; had been allowed to grow 
up in ignorance, idleness and vice, with no one to 
warn me of the wrong, or to point out the right. 
I had never had a glimpse of any higher or better 
life than was connected with the miserable den 
which I called my home, and my life was fast be- 
coming a barren waste. But the kindly tones in 
which I had been addressed, and the interest 
which the stranger had manifested toward me, 
had touched a chord in my heart which had here- 
tofore remained silent, and a new feeling was 
awakened in my breast ; and I then and there re- 
solved that from that time forward I would lead a 
different life, and would attain to something higher 
and nobler than had heretofore appeared in store 
for me. 

While these thoughts were passing in my mind, 
I was watching the rapidly-receding carriage of 
my friend. When I could no longer see it, I 
turned and walked slowly away, in a direction 
opposite to that in which lay the miserable hovel 
I had always known as my home. I had no defi- 
nite plans for the future, but upon one thing I was 
determined — never to return to the wretched cellar 
and the horrid scenes of vice, amid which my 
whole life had been passed. I was sure I could 
find shelter somewhere else ; and in the new light 
which the events of the last hour had shed in my 



136 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

soul, the idea of a further stay in that abode of 
misery was inexpressibly hateful to me. 

As I walked along I came to a clothing-store, 
and instantly my thoughts turned to, what seemed 
to me, the munificent compensation which my 
friend had given me for holding his horse. 

"What better use," said I to myself, " can I 
make of this money than to buy some new clothes, 
and so make myself fit to go to church, as he 
wanted me to do ? " and musing thus, I turned into 
the store. 

I was met by a middle-aged gentleman of benev- 
olent aspect, who smiled as he came forward and 
said : 

" Well, my little man, what can we do for you?" 

"I want to buy some clothes fit to wear to 
church, sir. A good, kind man gave me this for 
holding his horse," said I, producing my silver 
dollar ; " and I promised him I would go to church 
to-morrow, but these clothes are not fit to wear, 
are they ? " and I glanced at my ragged and dirty 
habiliments. 

" Who was the man, and where are you going 
to church ? " asked the merchant, in tones of some 
interest. 

"I don't know his name," said I, "but I am go- 
ing to the little brown church at the corner of 

and streets. That's where he told me to 

come, and he said he would see me there." 

While this conversation was going on, the man 
was engaged in selecting a suit of cheap, but re- 



BEGGAR BILL. 



137 



spec table-looking cotton clothes, which, together 
with a palm-leaf hat, he gave me for my dollar. 
When I tried them on, in the little closet at the 
back of the store, and saw how neat and clean I 
looked — how much my appearance was changed — 
I felt like another being. 

" What is your name, my little man ? " said the 
merchant, continuing the conversation. 

"I've always been called Bill," said I; "but the 
man who gave me the money called me Willie." 

"Willie what?" 

"I haint got no other name." 

"Have you a father and mother? " he asked. 

"I don't know," I answered, plaintively; for a 
sense of my loneliness in life came over me at this 
question with terrible force. " I have always lived 
with an old man and woman who never seemed to 
love me, but always cursed and scolded and 
whipped me, and made me beg and steal. I don't 
know whether they are my father and mother or 
not." 

" Poor boy," said he, " yours has been a sad lot 
in life. Do you love these people and want to go 
back to them ? " 

" Oh ! no, sir. If I can do anything else I never 
want to go back there." 

"Have you ever been to school? Can yon 
read?" asked he. 

"No, sir; I don't know anything," I answered 
in a low tone, for I felt ashamed to confess my 
ignorance. 



138 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 
"What can you do?" 

" I don't know, sir. I never did anything in my 
life. But I am strong, and am willing to do any- 
thing I can, so I only get away from that dreadful 
place." 

" Would you like to learn to read and write, and 
keep accounts?" he asked, with evident interest. 

" Oh ! yes, indeed I would," I replied, my heart 
trembling with emotion; for I thought this conver- 
sation portended an entire revolution of my hith- 
erto aimless life. 

"Well, Willie," said he, "you shall go home 
with me, and I will teach you to work and take 
care of my horse and buggy, and you shall learn 
to read and write ; and if you are a good boy, per- 
haps I will take you into my store after awhile." 

" Oh ! sir, you are very kind," said I, while my 
eyes filled with tears ; "I will do anything you 
want me to. And may I go to church and Sunday- 
school?" 

" Yes, Willie, I will take you to the little brown 
church, and stay with you till after Sunday- 
school." 

My heart was full, for I thought I was forever 
freed from the fearful thraldom which had hitherto 
bound me, and which, during the last few hours, 
had become so oppressive and hateful to me. And 
I inwardly vowed that by no act of mine should 
the kindness and interest of my new-found friends 
be abused. And I may say without boasting, 
dear reader, that never has that solemn vow been 



BEGGAR BILL. 



139 



for a moment forgotten or violated. I have never, 
knowingly, done an act which. I would be ashamed 
to have these kind friends know, or which would 
cause them a moment's pain. 

Mr. Graves, for that was the name of the mer- 
chant who took so warm an interest in my future, 
was a retail dealer in ready-made clothing on — 
street, and was in comfortable circumstances in 
life, though not by any means wealthy. He was 
a true Christian, and his hand and purse were 
alike open to respond to the calls which want and 
suffering constantly made upon him. And his 
frequent and generous contributions to the relief 
of the less fortunate beings who surrounded his 
pathway made serious inroads upon his limited 
means. But he was not avaricious, and so long as 
lie had enough to supply the moderate wants of 
himself and his family he cared for no more. 
" The surplus," he used to say, " belongs to the 
Lord, who has only lent it to us that we may re- 
lieve the wants of others less fortunate than our- 
selves." 

He resided in a neat white cottage in the 
suburbs of the city, fully three miles from his 
place of business, and his family consisted of his 
wife and one child. Mrs. Graves was a kind, 
matronly woman of about forty, and in piety and 
benevolence was the exact counterpart of her 
noble husband. 

Cecilia Graves, the only living child of this ex- 
cellent pair, was at this time just ten years of age, 



140 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



and was one of the sweetest children I ever saw. 
She was surpassingly beautiful, and was intelli- 
gent beyond her years, while the careful and judi- 
cious training of her excellent parents had im- 
parted to her character a grace and sweetness 
seldom met with in one so young. She was the 
youngest of three children, of whom both the 
others were sleeping in a quiet nook in the ceme- 
tery, which was not unfrequently the shrine of the 
pilgrimage of loving and bereaved, but submissive 
hearts. 

It was with this family, and amid these sur- 
roundings, that the future lot of "Beggar Bill" 
was to be cast. Surely a spot more conducive to 
the fostering of his new-formed resolutions could 
not well be found. 

About five o'clock Mr. Graves called me from 
the back part of the store, where I had been loiter- 
ing, and we set out for his home. A few doors 
from his own place of business he stopped at a 
shoe-store and bought me a pair of calf-skin 
shoes, which then seemed to me the finest I had 
ever seen, and never was there a prouder or hap- 
pier boy than I when, after putting them on my 
feet, I came out of the store and walked along by 
his side. 

After going a couple of blocks, we stopped at a 
livery-stable to get the horse and buggy which 
had brought him to his business in the morning. 
As the care of this conveyance was to be my prin- 
cipal work for the present, he took me into the 



BEGGAR BILL. 



141 



stable and carefully showed me the process of 
harnessing and hitching the animal to the vehicle, 
and when we reached his home the lesson was re- 
peated two or three times. I was very apt, and 
very anxious to learn my duty, and when I had 
Ibeen shown two or three times, I could harness 
and unharness a horse as well as Mr. Graves, after 
which we went into the house to supper. My re- 
ception by the family, when Mr. Graves had ex- 
plained to them the circumstances of my presence 
there, was as warm and cordial as though I were a 
blood relation, and contrasted so strongly with 
what I had been wont to receive upon my return 
to what had hitherto been my home, that I could 
scarcely persuade myself that it was a reality, 
and not some delightful dream, from which the 
coming of the morning light would all too soon 
awaken me. 

I must now ask the reader to pass lightly with 
me over a period of nine years, during all of which 
time my home has been with the pleasant and 
delightful family with whom I took up my abode 
on that, to me, ever memorable Saturday after- 
noon. I have long been known by the name of 
my adopted father, and the little clothing store on 
street has given place to a much more exten- 
sive establishment, over the door of which ap- 
pears, in shining gilt letters, the name of " S. H. 
Graves & Son." My adopted father and mother 
look a little older than when they were first pre- 
sented to the reader, but they still retain the same 



142 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



warm and affectionate hearts, and the same hum- 
ble, Christian piety and deportment which then 
characterized them. And their hearts have been 
gladdened by witnessing the adoption by their 
children of that faith which has been their own 
stay and anchor during their long and peaceful 
life. 

A gay and happy party have assembled at the 
residence of Mr. Graves to witness the union for 
life of two whose hearts have long since been given 
into each other's keeping. There are many guests 
there, who have, in earlier years, bestowed alms 
on "Beggar Bill," but not one of them recognizes 
him in the proud and happy bridegroom who is 
about to assume to Mr. Graves, by marriage, the 
relation he has so long sustained by adoption; 
for, by his side, clad in bridal robes, stands 
Cecilia Graves, now a beautiful, queenly woman of 
nineteen, — and, as maiden modesty and the excite- 
ment of the scene lend a brilliant flush to her clear, 
transparent complexion, the assembled guests 
whisper to each other that they have never seen a 
lovelier bride. 

But, beautiful as she undoubtedly is, this is her 
least recommendation to him who is about to as- 
sume to her the sacred relation of husband ; while 
fully realizing and appreciating her almost mar- 
velous beauty of form and feature, he knows that 
she possesses within her soul those precious gems 
of sweetness of temper and true womanhood which 
will insure happiness long after mere physical 



BEGGAR BILL. 



143 



beauty shall have faded and vanished beneath the 
mouldering and destroying touch of time ; and, as 
standing up before the man of God whose kindly 
hand had been first extended to raise "Beggar 
Bill " from his degraded position to the proud and 
lofty one he now occupied, they audibly pledged 
the vows which their hearts had long since sanc- 
tioned, not one who heard them but felt these vows 
would be kept in letter and spirit. 

Two years of calm and peaceful delight have 
passed over the heads of myself and wife in our 
pleasant mansion on Eighth Street — years whose 
happiness would have been unalloyed, but for the 
mystery which hung about my birth and parent- 
age. I could never bring myself to believe that 
the degraded beings with whom the years of my 
childhood had been passed were my father and 
mother ; and, as they had long since disappeared, 
none knew whither, and all chance of learning any 
thing from that source was therefore cut off, my 
hopes of ever learning anything as to my origin 
were very feeble. True, as Cecilia said, it would 
neither make me better nor worse; but still it 
would have been a great comfort to me to have 
this matter settled. 

One evening, as I came home from my business, 
my wife met me, with her usually beaming coun- 
tenance, and with a note in her hand. 

" Here," said she, when our customary kiss had 
been exchanged, " is an invitation to dine with a 



144 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE . 



party of friends, at the house of Mrs. Simpson, day 
after to-morrow. Shall we accept? " 

"As you please, my love," said I; "I know of 
nothing that will prevent my going, if you wish." 

" Then it is settled," said she, as she seated her- 
self to write an acceptance. " Mrs. Simpson, you 
knew, is one of the first ladies of the city, and her 
entertainments are always so pleasant that I only 
hesitated about accepting lest business might 
detain you." 

Upon going to Mrs. Simpson's, we found quite a 
large party assembled, with all of whom we were 
acquainted, except one old lady and her daughter, 
who were introduced to us as Mrs. and Miss De 
Lewis. They were evidently people of refinement 
and culture ; but my attention was especially at- 
tracted by the earnestness with which the old lady 
observed my every movement. It seemed almost 
impossible for her to keep her eyes off my face for 
a moment. At length she came and sat down on a 
sofa at my side. 

"I owe you an apology, Mr. Graves," she said, 
" for my seeming rudeness ; but you look so much 
like my son, and your features awaken such a 
train of sorrowful reflections, that I can scarcely 
keep my eyes from your face." 

" No apology is necessary for anything that Mrs. 
De Lewis would do," said I; "but may I presume 
to inquire what are the reflections to which you 
allude ? " for at that moment there unaccountably 
flashed across my mind the conviction that they 



BEGGAR BILL. 



145 



were in some way connected with the mystery 
which I had so long tried in vain to solve. 

" Not now," she answered, hastily ; " perhaps 
some other time — " 

At this moment, her son, Mr. Chester De Lewis, 
was announced. Our little conversation had at- 
tracted the attention of the guests who were seated 
near us, and now all were engaged in comparing 
the personal appearance of the new-comer and 
myself. And, certainly, the resemblance between 
us was most startling. In every feature, each was 
almost the exact counterpart of the other ; and, by 
a strange coincidence, we were dressed precisely 
alike. I half started to my feet, while a general 
exclamation of surprise went up from the assem- 
bled guests, as my " double " wonderingly ap- 
proached the place where his mother sat. 

But the most astonishing effect was produced 
upon Mrs. De Lewis, by this remarkable appari- 
tion. She trembled, turned pale, and for a moment 
it was thought that she was about to faint ; but by 
a mighty effort she recovered some degree of com- 
posure, and in a faint voice she begged to be taken 
from the room. Her request was complied with, 
and soon after she sent for me, when she gave me 
a part of her history, as follows : 

" My maiden name was Franklin. At the early 

age of sixteen, I was sought in marriage by a man 

by the name of Owens, who was supposed to be 

very wealthy. He supposed that I was possessed 

of a considerable fortune, partly in my own right, 
10 



146 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

and partly in right of my mother, which latter 
would become mine upon her death. My parents, 
I grieve to say, were sordid and avaricious, and to 
them the supposed wealth of Mr. Owens was an 
abundant reason for insisting upon the marriage. 
I was young and thoughtless, and so the marriage 
was consummated ; and then we found that both 
had been deceived. Instead of being wealthy, as 
was supposed, Mr. Owens was on the verge of 
bankruptcy, while my fortune had all been in- 
vested in some kind of stocks, which had depre- 
ciated to such an extent as to be almost entirely 
worthless. 

" I will not weary you by recounting the scene 
which ensued when Mr. Owens found, after our 
marriage, that he had been so wofully mistaken, 
or the long years of abuse and neglect with which 
my husband sought to punish me for my deceit, as 
he termed it, as though he had not himself been 
guilty of the same offense. Even the birth of two 
fine, healthy boys, so far from healing our differ- 
ences, seemed but to increase his bitterness against 
me, and when the babes were but little more than 
a month old, he abandoned me, taking one of them 
away with him, 

" It was long before I could get any trace of him 
or the child, but I finally found him in a city 
prison, whither he had been thrust for an attempt 
to defraud his creditors. He firmly refused to give 
any account of the child he had taken away, and 
when he died, which he did shortly after I found 



BEGGAR BILL. 



147 



him, the secret died with him. And from that day 
to this the fate of my child has been a profound 
mystery. But now, my heart and your resem- 
blance to my other son, tell me that you are none 
other than the child stolen from me so many years 
ago. Will you now tell me of your birth and 
parentage ? " 

"I would gladly do so, my dear madam, if 1 
knew anything of it ; but to me it has ever been a 
mystery which I have tried in vain to clear up," I 
replied, with emotion. 

" When my lost child was little more than a 
week old, by the carelessness of a nurse," resumed 
Mrs. De Lewis, "he received a fall, in which a 
peculiar triangular-shaped gash was cut in his 
head, just back of his right ear. If he is alive, he 
must bear the scar of that cut to this day." 

The peculiar scar just above my ear had often 
been the subject of remark between myself and 
my wife, and, in a moment, it was exposed to her 
view. 

" My son! " she cried, in ecstasy. 

"My mother! " I replied, and, in a moment, we 
were clasped in each other's arms. 

Reader, my story is told, and it only remains to 
conclude it. My mother was living in France, and 
was only on a visit to the United States when 
chance, or Providence, rather, led her to the party 
at which she found a son and I a mother. She 
had, after the death of my father, married a man 
of great wealth, by the name of De Lewis, and her 



148 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

second marriage had been as happy as her first 
was full of misery. One child, my half-sister, had 
been the fruit of this marriage. Her second hus- 
band had been dead some years, and, in dying, 
had devised his property in equal proportions to 
her, her daughter and son, upon condition that the 
latter assumed his family name. 

Soon after our happy meeting, she returned to 
the land of her adoption, where she died some 
years since in the triumphs of Christian faith, and 
surrounded by all her children, who sincerely 
mourn her loss. 

My brother and sister still reside in France ; 
but, though the wide ocean rolls between us, 
scarcely a season passes, in which they do not 
either visit us, or receive a visit from Cecilia and 
myself. 

Mr. and Mrs. Graves are both dead, and rest near 
the minister who gave " Beggar Bill " the silver 
dollar. I have reared above his tomb a beautiful 
monument, and long may the epitaph graven 
thereon keep the memory of his virtues green in 
the souls of all who knew him. " He was a faith- 
ful servant in the vineyard of his Master." I have 
accepted Christ as my Saviour. My wife and I are 
members of the church. 



VIII. 



AUNT CLARA'S DREAM. 

' 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, 
my disciples, ye have done it unto me. ' ' 

This was the text selected by the minister on 
that lovely summer's Lord's day ; and the power- 
ful manner in which he had elucidated his subject 
had given Aunt Clara entirely new ideas of char- 
ity. He had started out with the position that 
the Divine utterer of the sublime sentiment was 
represented in the person of every one of his dis- 
ciples, whether within the visible folds of the 
church or not ; for the speaker assumed that, in 
the sense in which the term " disciple " was used 
in this passage, disciples might exist without as 
well as within the church. " Everyone," said 
he, " of the suffering and needy, but upright 
poor, is, in this sense, a disciple or follower of the 
Lord Jesus Christ, who, during his ministrations 
on earth, declared Himself, ' the Son of man hath 
not where to lay His head.' " And in this sense 
he argued that every indignity offered to a " dis- 
ciple," was felt, not so much by the stricken one, 
as by the Lamb himself ; that every act of charity 
toward one of these disciples was an act of direct 
kindness to the Saviour himself ; and that, in the 

(149) 



150 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

final accounting at the bar of the Almighty, every 
one of these acts would be weighed in the balance 
according to its true value. And then, if acts of 
charity have been done merely to be seen of men, 
and not to the glory and honor of the Most High, 
they would be accounted but as dross, or the small 
dust of the balance. He then closed with a pow- 
erful exhortation to his hearers to perform their 
acts of charity, not grudgingly, but according to 
their several abilities ; — not in public, to be seen 
and praised of mankind, but in secret, that they 
might win the approbation of Him who knoweth 
the secret thoughts of the heart, and in whose 
hands are the issues of eternal life and death. 

When the sermon was ended, Aunt Clara walked 
home in a mood of thoughtfulness quite unusual 
to her. She had long prided herself upon the rep- 
utation she enjoyed, of being one of the most 
charitable women of the neighborhood, and had 
often boasted to herself and to others, that no 
needy wanderer was ever turned away unrelieved ; 
but the eloquent words in which the preacher had 
that day clothed his ideas of charity, had touched 
a tender place in her heart, and had awakened an 
entirely new train of reflections ; and it was with 
some lingering, hesitating doubts that she asked 
herself if the crust (so dry and stale that in her 
well-ordered household it would have found a place 
only among the slops,) which she had bestowed 
but a day or two before upon a hungry beggar, 
who had solicited wherewith to appease his hun- 



AUNT CLARA'S DREAM. 



151 



ger, and whom she had reminded that she never 
turned anybody away without relief, was really 
the gift of charity as defined by the preacher. 
And again, she found herself wondering how much 
credit she had received in the eternal account, be- 
cause of the ragged blanket she had picked out of 
the carpet rags and given to the poor girl who so- 
licited something to shield her from the inclemency 
of the weather, while she took care to repeat the 
hackneyed phrase which usually accompanied her 
gifts. 

And well might Aunt Clara be, to-day, in a 
thoughtful mood. Despite the reputation for char- 
ity which she enjoyed, hers was one of those hard, 
stern, imperious natures which, proud in the con- 
sciousness of their own strength, admit no weak- 
ness in another. The least deviation from the path 
of rectitude was regarded and treated by her as 
unpardonable ; she made no allowance for the 
frailties of human nature, perchance because she 
was incapable of appreciating them, having never 
experienced anything of the kind herself; active, 
stirring and energetic, she was the sworn foe of 
indolence and ease— in short, she was one of those 
people who are never happy unless they are mis- 
erable. Fretting, and driving, and storming con- 
stantly, there was never any peace either for her- 
self or for those around her. 

In her own household was this especially the 
case, and many a sound rating did she give Uncle 
Harvey, because, having passed the meridian of 



152 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

life, and being in possession of a comfortable for- 
tune — at least sufficient to render him independent 
for the remainder of his life— he felt disposed to 
remit somewhat of the exertions which had char- 
acterized his earlier years, and to live in compara- 
tive ease the short space of time yet alloted to 
him. And let any one of the servants be found 
" loafering," as she termed it, and they were sure 
to receive " a piece of her mind." 

And yet to have looked at Aunt Clara, no one 
would have suspected her of possessing so much 
vinegar in her composition as she was able on any 
convenient or inconvenient occasion to display. 
She was one of those short, fat, little bodies who 
seem brimming over with good nature, while the 
plump little hands folded across each other seem 
the very emblem of rest and ease, and the smiles 
of kindness and of benevolence seem playing 
hide-and-seek with each other among the dimples 
of the round cheeks and the fat, double chin. 
This was her appearance when in repose; but 
never, it must be confessed, were appearances 
more deceptive, as every one who has seen Aunt 
Clara in a passion knows but too well ; not that 
she would, by any means, admit that she was ever 
in a passion, but what she considered a state of 
calm repose, most people would consider an 
exhibition of towering passion. 

Like most women of her peculiar temper and 
temperament, she was one of the most scrupu- 
lously neat and cleanly bodies that can be con- 



AUNT CLARA'S DREAM. 



153 



ceived of. She never seemed so happy as when 
scrubbing and scouring as though her very life 
depended upon it ; her tinware always shone like 
the face of a mirror; the least stain upon the 
walls was sufficient to give her the horrors ; and I 
have heard that the flies were accustomed to wipe 
their feet upon the door-mat before daring to step 
on the nicely-scrubbed, white kitchen-floor. For 
this, however, I would prefer not to vouch. 

Uncle Harvey was one of the mildest and most 
pleasant dispositioned men I ever met, because he 
was, in the truest sense of the term, a Christian. 
Nothing ever ruffled the calm placidity of his tem- 
per ; and when Aunt Clara stormed, as she often 
did, he took it as a matter of course, never re- 
torted, but merely let her fury expend its own 
force, well knowing that in so doing he was pro- 
moting not only his own happiness, but the hap- 
piness of all around him. It must be admitted, 
however, that the enjoyment of his married life 
had not equaled the high expectation he had 
formed when he took Aunt Clara to wife, some 
twenty odd years before. They had been married 
but a very few weeks, or months at farthest, when 
he found, to his astonishment, that she was pos- 
sessed of a disposition and temper of whose exist- 
ence he had never dreamed before ; for, after the 
true female fashion, she had, during the courtship, 
carefully concealed this fault. Not that Aunt 
Clara, or any other girl, intends to deceive the lover 
whose addresses they are receiving, but it is very 



154 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

natural that under such circumstances they should 
be upon their best behavior, and so contract the 
most solemn engagement of their lives, with really 
the least knowledge of the subject matter. In- 
deed, I have often thought that, in a majority of 
cases, neither husband nor wife know anything of 
the real character of the one to whom they are in- 
trusting their happiness for life until after the 
bonds which unite them are indissolubly formed, 
and that there is more of truth in the saying, 
"that marriage is a lottery," than the world is 
generally willing to admit. 

When Uncle Harvey found that, instead of a 
pleasant and cheerful companion and helpmeet, as 
he fondly supposed, he had linked himself for life 
with a mere scold, as it were— with one whose 
chief happiness seemed to consist in fretting, fault- 
finding and repining — he manfully smothered his 
disappointment and resolved that, under no cir- 
cumstances, would he arouse or develop the spirit 
which so evidently existed in her bosom ; and with 
rare faithfulness and self-control had he kept this 
resolution. For a quarter of a century he had en- 
dured her outbursts of temper, never returning an 
angry look or word, but patiently submitting to 
all she chose to inflict upon him. And in so doing 
he had found his greatest peace. 

As they walked home on this Sunday afternoon, 
Aunt Clara was strangely silent. Not a single 
word did she utter during the homeward walk — 
not once did she open her lips to reprove him, as 



AUNT CLARA'S DREAM. 



155 



was her wont, for any imaginary faults of deport- 
ment, either at church or on the road. The truth 
was, the sermon had made an impression upon her 
which she could not eradicate from her mind, and 
did not wish to. Uncle Harvey walked by her 
side in wondering amazement, and his astonish- 
ment reached its climax when, on arriving at 
home, she went into the house without even no- 
ticing the ravages which some vicious cows had 
made in her vegetable garden during their ab- 
sence. 

He shrewdly suspected that there would be 
something of a "time" when she should discover 
the mischief, for she quite doted on her garden ; 
but, like a prudent man, he determined not to be 
responsible for breaking up the unwonted calm, 
but to leave her to find out the mishap at her leis- 
ure. Accordingly, he went silently to the garden, 
repaired the damages as far as he could, and, re- 
turning to the house, was soon deep in the mys- 
teries of "Baxter's Sermons," while Aunt Clara 
busied herself with preparations for supper. 

And such a supper as she prepared ! It would 
have delighted the heart of an epicure. Cold 
tongue, cheese, pickles, preserves, honey, cake, 
custard, golden butter, strawberries and nice, rich 
cream, graced the board, while a huge plateful of 
snowy biscuit smoked in the center, and tempted 
and whetted the appetite. Uncle Harvey, mean- 
time, read on, only looking up occasionally to en- 
deavor to fathom the secret cause of so much 



156 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



quiet. But vain was the scrutiny. Aunt Clara 
"kept the noiseless tenor of her way," and when 
everything was at last arranged to her satisfac- 
tion, she summoned him to the repast merely by 
a wave of the hand and an expressive inclination 
of the head. Something was surely weighing on 
her mind, but Uncle Harvey was far too wise to 
provoke the tempest which, from past experience, 
he felt sure was brewing. 

The supper or dinner, whichever you may choose 
to call it, for it will do for either, was eaten, the 
tea things were arranged in their accustomed order 
upon the snowy shelves of the pantry, and Uncle 
Harvey took his accustomed seat on the porch to 
enjoy his after-dinner pipe, for Uncle Harvey 
dearly loved a quiet smoke, and no amount of 
fretting upon the part of his wife could induce him 
to forego this one of the "small vices," the only 
one in which he ever indulged. But on this occa- 
sion Aunt Clara took a seat near him, without 
saying a word about the clouds of smoke, which 
ever and anon burst from his lips, and which she 
was wont to declare "were enough to stifle a 
body." 

As Aunt Clara, on this afternoon, sat gazing out 
into the pleasant summer air, watching the birds 
as they flitted from branch to branch of the shade- 
trees which imparted such coolness to the place 
where they were sitting, and listening to the music 
of the bees as they pursued their daily toil, never 
once recking that it was Sunday, a sense of drow- 



AUNT CLARA'S DREAM. 



157 



siness came over her, and she slept. And dozing 
thus in her easy chair, she dreamed, or, as she 
always persisted in saying, "had a vision." 

And, as her mind wandered away, she found 
herself carried back to the commencement of her 
own life's journey, and she was again a joyous, 
happy and careless child, roaming hither and 
thither at will, filling her hands with fairest flow- 
ers, and singing as sweetly as the birds which 
nestled in every green tree by the wayside ; and, 
as she went on her way, she met children of less 
happy surroundings than her own, and their little 
faces were pinched with pain, and they saluted 
her with looks of weariness, and of hungry long- 
ing for that love which is the chiefest boon of 
childhood. And then feelings of pity for their 
hard lot and blighted joys welled up in her heart, 
and though her means of relief were simple, she 
gave them precious treasures — the brightest flow- 
ers she could find, and cool water from a bubbling 
spring, and kind words and loving looks ; and 
then they blessed her, and smiles wreathed their 
faces, and they hurried on their way more joy- 
fully, because of their meeting with the kind little 
stranger. 

Anon the scene changed, and she was a comely 
maiden, moving amid the circles of rastic fashion- 
able society, and many a strippling cast sly 
glances at her and strove to win her favor, and re- 
joiced within themselves when their efforts were 
successful in bringing smiles to her lips. At last 



158 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

she met one of purer and nobler mien than his fel- 
lows, and when he came near her, her cheek was 
flushed with the first faint dawnings of maiden 
love, and her heart throbbed with silent and re- 
pressed joy; and when he stood beside her and 
whispered of his love and his hopes,*and asked 
her to walk beside him in a far more fruitful land, 
where she should be his bird of song and make 
his home a very paradise as they lovingly trod 
the pathway together, she shyly but confidently 
placed her hand in his and promised all he asked. 

But when she had left the home walk and en- 
tered the new path, and found that the fragrant 
flowers which there bloomed in eternal beauty 
were intermingled with thorny brambles, and that 
rough stones were strewn in the path where she 
had looked for nought but smooth and level 
ground, she resolutely shut her senses to the 
beauties which glowed all around, and refused to 
see aught but pain; then, wearying of the journey, 
and grieving for the lost sweets of childhood's 
walks, she sang no more, but let tears wash away 
all her smiles. The voice of her melody was 
turned to bitter complaining and fretful petulance, 
and the earthly paradise which the imagination of 
her husband had conjured up, was turned into an 
arid desert. Thus the two journeyed on, and 
though she saw her companion grow pale and sad 
and weary day by day, not one loving word or 
tender smile did she vouchsafe to cheer and com- 
fort him. 



AUNT CLARA'S DREAM. 



159 



By and by little children came to her, three in 
number, and they loved and admired the flowers 
which budded and grew lovely and glorious 
among the rocks by the wayside, and they gath- 
ered them and pressed them in their tiny hands 
and offered them to their mother ; but she turned 
coldly away from the offered treasures. And then 
she renewed her repining for past pleasures, and 
would not taste of the blessings which might have 
rendered her life one scene of joyous, uninter- 
rupted sunshine. 

Years passed, so swiftly does time fly in the 
fairyland in which Aunt Clara was now traveling, 
and the voices of her children no longer sounded 
in her ears. Where had been the sweet music of 
their prattle (for such it seemed to her, now that 
it had departed forever,) was dull and dreary 
silence, almost painful from its intensity, and her 
heart again sighed for that which had once been 
little but annoyance to her, and which she now 
felt had been driven away by her own grievous 
mistake. But vain were her longings. The bless- 
ings lost would not return, and her life grew more 
and more desolate and dreary. It seemed to her 
disordered imagination that her life, instead of 
being the beautiful and happy shore upon which 
her childhood's days had been spent, was now but 
a midnight ocean upon which, without light or 
compass, her frail bark was being dashed to and 
fro at the pleasure of the winds and waves. 

But increasing years and accumulated sorrows, 



160 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



instead of leading her chastened spirit to look 
above the cloud to the center of light and warmth, 
only increased her fretfulness and repining ; trifles 
grew to overwhelming proportions ; the gentle rip- 
ples upon the surface of the water swelled into 
mountainous billows, and her life became an 
angry, boisterous sea of sorrow; and, looking 
around, she beheld on every side her husband's 
hopes of happiness sinking in the turbid depths 
until the last one was lost. 

Anon her dream changed, and she stood upon 
the land amid the darkness of Egyptian midnight, 
alone ; the hollow thunder muttered and reverber- 
ated around her, while lurid flashes of lightning 
ever and anon illuminated the scene and revealed, 
close before her, a silent, but dark and tempestu- 
ous river, whose waves were lashed into fury by 
the fierce storm, but yet gave back no sound. And 
still, as she gazed in dismay and awe upon the 
fearful scene, she felt herself impelled toward the 
seething flood by some unknown force which she 
was powerless to resist. At last her foot touched 
the waves, whose icy coldness struck a chill to her 
very heart, and at that moment, a skiff, propelled 
by a single boatman, the ashy paleness of whose 
features vied with the white foam all around her, 
shot up to her side : without a word, the grim fer- 
ryman stretched out his hand, raised her into the 
boat, and in an instant bore her out upon the 
bosom of the vexed and angry waters. 

Then, as they swiftly receded from the shore, 



AUNT CLARA'S DREAM. 



161 



she cast one wild, despairing look behind, and at 
that moment a flash of vivid lightning revealed her 
husband standing upon the bank and gazing out 
into the gloom amid which she was vanishing. 
But, alas ! no sorrow was depicted upon his coun- 
tenance ; she saw there only surprise, commingled 
with an expression of rest and contentment, such 
as his features had not worn for years, and then 
returning darkness hid him entirely from her view, 
But her voyage continued, the darkness becom- 
ing momentarily more and more dense and impen- 
etrable, until at last, like the fearful pall which, at 
Divine command, overspread all the land of the 
Pharaohs for the space of three days, the darkness 
could be felt, and her whole soul quailed with the 
intensity of its terrors. Suddenly, however, a 
change as instantaneous as it was delightful, came 
o'er the scene. The terrible vail which overshad- 
owed her was, as it were, rent in twain, and a glow 
of dazzling and effulgent light usurped its place, 
and at that moment the boat touched a shore 
strewn with precious gems, which, in the brilliant 
beams flooding the place, glowed like the stars of 
an Eastern firmament. Involuntarily she glanced 
backward at the flood which had so lately filled 
her with untold terror ; but here a change, as won- 
drous as that of the atmosphere, awaited her. Its 
waves were no longer lashed into fury by the fierce 
wings of the tempest, nor did the great bank of 
darkness any more hang upon its surface ; but 
calm and peaceful it rolled on its way, a shining 



162 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



thread of silver to facilitate her advent to the beau- 
teous regions in which she then stood. 

Turning with wonder from the contemplation, 
she found herself in front of a city, the splendor of 
whose magnificence excelled anything her imagi- 
nation had ever been able to conceive. Its walls 
were constructed of the same precious gems which 
had attracted her attention upon her first landing, 
and which reflected the brilliant light in every pos- 
sible shade and variety of color pleasing to the eye 
or charming to the senses ; its gates were each com- 
posed of a single pearl, and swang on hinges of 
purest silver, while through their half-open folds 
she could see pavements of finest gold, upon which 
walked beings whose radiance of form, feature and 
raiment, filled her with astonishment and awe. 

Going forward, in a species of bewildered amaze- 
ment, she entered the glistening portals, and stood 
upon the street amid the shining throng, not one of 
whom took any notice of her, recognized her 
in any way, or even seemed aware of her presence. 
Each one passed on their way, singing sweetest 
melodies in accord with harps of gold in their 
hands, while crowns of the same precious metal 
glittered upon their brows; but amid the bright 
crowd she stood alone. And, as she stood thus, 
she could not but feel that her raiment was not ex- 
actly suited to the splendors of the scene ; but still 
she went on, vainly seeking for some one who 
would take some notice of her. 

At last she met a tall and majestic being of in- 



AUNT CLARA'S DREAM. 



163 



finite sweetness of expression and countenance, 
while from every part of his person gleamed the 
effulgent light which surrounded her on all sides. 
As she approached him he extended his hands, 
and she saw there were holes in them, as though 
they had been pierced by nails, and in a moment 
she knew that she stood in the presence of the 
King, the divine Saviour of the world, and the 
omniscient Judge of all. 

"Mortal," said He — and His tones, though sor- 
rowful, were sweet as the falling of silver water 
into marble fountains — " thou hast, indeed, come 
hither ; but yet I find not thy name in the Book of 
Life." 

For a moment her heart stood still, and then, 
falling upon her knees, she cried out in tones of 
piteous and agonizing supplication, " Oh ! Saviour, 
hear me and judge mercifully. When on earth I 
did acknowledge Thy name before men, I freely 
gave of my abundance, and much charity did I 
bestow upon the poor." 

But, even as she spoke, memory went back over 
the past, and every act of her life stood arrayed in 
fearful distinctness before her. Where now was 
her boasted good ? As she rapidly scanned her 
past life in search of something to recommend her 
to the favor of her Judge, what a barren waste it 
seemed ! 

First came in review her treatment of her hus- 
band. Had she been to him, as she had prom- 
ised, the kind and loving companion, striving, by 



164 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE . 

her smiles and words of cheer to smooth and 
strengthen him under the burdens he was com- 
pelled to endure ? Alas ! no. Where he had ex- 
pected smiles and approving words, she had be- 
stowed naught but frowns and words of fretfulness, 
and vain repining on account of her hard lot. But, 
though she knew he was pierced and wounded by 
her coldness and want of sympathy, she had still 
gone on her way : and, though her treatment of 
him had crushed out the strength of his manhood, 
and the warmth, and beauty, and pleasure of his 
life, still had he walked by her side, as it were, 
amid a boundless desert, silent and sorrowing, but 
uttering no complaint or moan. In the light of 
this retrospect, how mean and unworthy seemed 
her conduct- — how noble and self-denying his ! 

Then memory turned for relief toward her chil- 
dren ; but here awaited her even a deeper pang as 
she remembered her treatment of them. For in 
the light of eternity she saw, what she did not be- 
fore realize, that not love, but pride, had been her 
ruling motive in her management of them. First 
she thought of the eldest — a very nobleman, in- 
deed — who had been driven from home, and his 
very name banished from the fireside, because he 
had married a poor, but beautiful and intelligent 
girl, when her heart was set upon his wedding the 
pampered daughter of ease and affluence. Then 
she remembered that her second son was a wan- 
derer in a strange land, among strangers, driven 
from the home and hearth of his youth, because of 



AUNT CLARA'S DREAM. 



165 



her unnatural opposition to the ministerial course 
which his heart and inclination prompted him to 
follow. She had wished him to become a lawyer, 
and so violently had she ridiculed and opposed the 
voice of God calling him to labor in His vineyard, 
that, unable to brook her opposition, he had left 
home, and for years she had not seen him. 

But, ah! the deepest pang of memory came 
when she thought of her youngest born — her only 
daughter. Her gentle and affectionate heart had 
been chilled and wounded by cold and unmerited 
rebuke ; her soul, tender and sympathetic, had 
been starved for lack of loving and motherly kind- 
ness and care, and in early life she had withered, 
drooped and died. Her physician said consump- 
tion had caused her death ; but in the clear light 
of eternity she saw and knew that nothing but the 
want of that love which her pure spirit craved and 
had a right to expect, but which she had crimin- 
ally withheld from her, had been the cause of her 
early decease. 

Then she turned to the contemplation of her 
deeds of charity, and her heart beat high with 
hope, for she remembered that He had said, "Char- 
ity covereth a multitude of sins." And when she 
appealed to the Judge in their name, clear and dis- 
tinct, yet sad, arose His voice : " Inasmuch as ye 
have not done it unto one of the least of these, my 
brethren, ye have not done it unto me." But 
when, obedient to her call, the deeds she had been 
wont to call charities came trooping by, how mean 



166 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

and contemptible they appeared in the clear blaze 
of the heavenly light. 

She saw herself in a comfortable home, sur- 
rounded by all the necessaries and luxuries of life. 
Her table groaned beneath its weight of palatable 
food, while dishes of luscious fruit crowned the 
board and tempted the appetite. A tired and hun- 
gry child stood in the door-way, and gazed at the 
well-arranged table ; but, though he spoke not for 
very fear, yet his eyes said, in unmistakable 
tones, " Give from your bounty to relieve my 
want." Did she heed the mute appeal ? Yes ; 
but how? Instead of the abundance which 
gleamed upon the table, her hand had extended a 
simple crust, so dry that it was only fit for the 
slops in that rich home, and so she had sent the 
wanderer away, without even a kindly word. 

A poor woman, with a large family of orphan 
children, was turned into the street because she 
was unable to pay her rent. It would have been a 
mere trifle for her to have furnished them a shelter 
until the departure of stern winter, and the return 
of summer would have enabled the poor woman 
to reduce her expenses within the limits of the 
miserable stipend which she received for her late 
and early toil ; but a few ragged blankets, of no 
use to her in her luxurious home, bestowed with 
ostentatious self-praise, had been the extent of her 
charity. Was she to blame that a rude barn had 
been their only shelter that cold December night, 
from which they had emerged in the morning 



AUNT CLARA'S DREAM. 



167 



with frozen limbs — fit objects for a home in the 
pauper's asylum ? 

Next came a man, stricken in years, bowed and 
broken, and crippled in the stern battle of life. 
The night was cold and stormy ; the wintry winds 
penetrated his ragged and thread-bare clothing, 
and chilled the very marrow of his bones, and, in 
piteous accents he begged food and shelter in 
sweet Charity's name. A bed in the garret and a 
cold supper had been her response to his prayer, 
and, though her conscience had smitten her some- 
what, when she learned that he had been found 
frozen to death on the road to the next village, 
still she folded her arms with self-complacency, 
and quieted her conscience with the reflection that 
had others been as charitable to the old man as 
she, his sad fate might have been escaped, at least 
for a day or two longer. 

A poor, betrayed and forsaken girl, weeping 
tears of blood for her wrong, came to her and 
sought a home and shelter from temptation, but 
with some half-worn clothing and a sharp reproof 
for her weakness and misconduct, she had sent 
her out again into the world of sin, with no shield 
to guard her from the evils which beset her on 
every hand. And when she heard of her entire 
abandonment to vice, she had pursed up her lips 
and talked of the innate wickedness of some peo- 
ple — albeit, her conscience whispered that, by the 
exercise of a true spirit of charity, she might have 



168 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



saved at least one immortal soul from eternal 
death. 

And thus her deeds rose up one after another in 
ghastly review before her, and her heart sank 
within her as she thought how poor and mean and 
contemptible they must look in the sight of Him 
who had given up the joys of paradise and laid 
down His own life for the redemption of fallen 
man. Oh ! how she loathed the hypocrisy which 
had so often uttered the Pharisaical exclamation, 
"No one is ever turned away," and how mean and 
despicable appeared her whole life, now that it 
stood revealed in all its proportions to her spir- 
itual eyes. How she abhorred herself in every 
word and thought and act. And as she thought 
of all, a deep sense of humiliation filled her soul, 
and, prostrating herself before Him, she cried in 
anguish, " God be merciful to me a sinner." 

But again arose clear and distinct, though sad- 
der and more pitiful than before, " Ye are my dis- 
ciples if ye keep my commandments," and, " Inas- 
much as ye did it not unto one of the least of 
these, my brethren, ye did it not unto me," and 
He turned away. 

" Oh ! God, thou Son of David," she cried in 
bitter anguish, "have mercy upon me. Oh! Har- 
vey, Harvey, my husband, help me or I perish ! " 

That wild, piteous, despairing cry, ringing out 
upon the stillness of the night, which had fallen 
while they slept, awoke both husband and wife. 



AUNT CLARA'S DREAM. 



169 



"What is it Clara?" said Uncle Harvey, start- 
ing up and springing to her side. 

" Oh ! my dream. It seemed so real and dread- 
ful," and, for the first time in many a long year, 
she threw her arms around his neck and burst 
into tears. 

Uncle Harvey made no answer, but silently 
wound his arms around her and pressed her close 
to his bosom. And, though he was now old and 
gray, the fountains of his soul were moved, and 
his heart throbbed with a joy such as it had not 
known since their wedding-day. He asked no 
further explanation, and he knew not why, but he 
felt assured that from that time Aunt Clara was a 
changed woman; that the love which he well 
knew she really felt for him, but which had been 
so long hidden beneath an impenetrable crust of 
pride and selfishness and fretful repining, would 
henceforth be allowed full sway, and that the 
dark cloud which had overshadowed the whole of 
his wedded life was about to give way to the pure 
sunlight of love and happiness. 

Aunt Clara did not tell her dream that night, 
but, long after Uncle Harvey was quietly sleeping, 
she lay and pondered its mysterious warning; and 
though long years have passed into eternity, she 
has never forgotten its lesson or disappointed the 
hopes which her husband had formed in that in- 
stant of sudden, startled awaking. She has since 
been truly the sunlight of his life, and his days 
and hers have been peaceful, happy and prosper- 



170 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



ous. Fretfulness and repining are unknown, and 
in their place loving words and tender smiles 
abound. 

Her charity, too, is different from what it was 
then. She boasts no more of her benevolence, but 
her hand is ever ready to succor the poor and the 
needy— not grudgingly and stintedly as aforetime, 
but of her abundance she gives freely; for she 
feels that in giving to the poor she is lending to 
the Lord and laying up treasures for herself above 
— that she may, at the last, have a right to enter 
in through the gates of the wondrous city she be- 
held in her dream. 

And in promoting the happiness of all around 
her she has found her own blessing. No more do 
rocks and thorns abound in her pathway ; onward 
she journeys toward the dark river, in a smooth 
and level highway, while the fragrant breath of 
ever-blooming flowers, and the sweetest notes of 
birds, meet her at every step. The sons, too, 
whom in her blind self-will she had driven forth 
far from the parental roof-tree, have returned, and 
the melody of their voices adds to the harmony 
by which she is surrounded. The daughter who 
sleeps beneath the willow she cannot recall ; but 
who shall say that her pure spirit, with words of 
love and forgiveness and peace, is not a frequent 
visitor, cheering and strengthening her in the path 
she is pursuing? 

At last there came a day when Uncle Harvey 
and his sons, with their wives and little ones, 



AUNT CLARA'S DREAM. 



171 



stood weeping around her bed, for her life was 
about wound to a close. Aunt Clara was dying, 
but the countenance of her husband wore not the 
expression she had seen upon it in her dream. 
Weeping and sad, but with his sorrow tempered 
by Christian resignation, and the assurance that 
he would soon go to meet her in a brighter and 
better world, he watched the lamp of her life as, 
flickering to the close, it gradually faded in its 
socket. 

Suddenly, while a gleam as of the eternal glory 
overspread her features, she exclaimed, in tri- 
umphant tones, " The gate is open ; I see the eter- 
nal river ; my daughter stands to welcome me on 
its brink ; in the Lamb's Book of Life my name is 
written;" and she fell asleep in Jesus. 

' 'Asleep in Jesus — Oh ! how sweet 
To be for such a slumber meet ; 
With holy confidence to sing 
That Death has lost his venomed sting. 

* 'Asleep in Jesus — Oh ! for me 
May such a blissful refuge be — 
Securely shall my ashes lie, 
Waiting their summons from on high. ' ' 



IX. 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD. 

PART FIRST. 

I graduated at the age of eighteen years, at 
the University of Notre Dame. I was a poor girl 
and an orphan ; the little means which the settle- 
ment of my father's estate had left me had been 
consumed in obtaining my education ; I had 
neither friends nor influence to aid me through 
life, and the consciousness that my education was 
all I could depend upon for support, had stimu- 
lated me to cultivate my natural love of books 
and learning to the utmost possible degree ; and 
when I graduated, it was with the highest honors 
of the institution. 

About the close of my school-term, an adver- 
tisement in one of the papers, headed, " Governess 
Wanted," and promising permanent employment 
and liberal compensation, attracted my attention. 

" Here," said I to myself, "is just the opening 
for me ;" and I at once carried the paper to my 
favorite teacher, and requested him to make appli- 
cation for the situation for me. He readily com- 
plied, and in due time, received a letter from a 
Mr. Hale, requesting me to come at once to Green - 

(172) 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD. 173 



wood and take charge of the education of his four 
children, whose mother had died but a short time 
before. I felt some timidity and distrust of my 
own powers, but my teacher assured me that 
would never do, and so the call was accepted. He 
accompanied me to the depot, warned me against 
my besetting sins — reserve, dreaming, and sensi- 
tiveness — all of which he assured me were too 
costly weaknesses for a girl in my situation; and 
my frail bark was fairly launched upon the tem- 
pestuous sea of life. " Would it sink or swim V 
I tremblingly asked myself — a question which 
only time could answer. 

Upon my arrival at Greenwood I found that the 
family consisted of seven persons — Mr. Hale, a 
fine, polished gentleman of about forty ; his sister, 
Miss Kate Hale, a vinegary old maid, ten years 
his senior, and five children. Ella, the oldest, was 
a most beautiful, but badly spoiled girl of six- 
teen. Mollie, the next, was a girl of some talent, 
but rather inclined to be wild and reckless, and 
aged about fourteen. Walter and Mattie were 
twins, and were about twelve years of age ; while 
Flora, aged about seven years, and the pet of the 
whole family, completed the flock. My class con- 
sisted of the four younger children, Ella being 
considered, at this time, a young lady, and quite 
beyond the control of a governess. 

It was with no little trepidation and distrust of 
self that I made my first essay at winning the 
affection and confidence of these children sufli- 



174 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



ciently to enable me to discharge my duties to- 
ward them. But my efforts exceeded my most 
sanguine expectations. Flora fell in love with me 
at once, and but a few days elapsed until I was 
on the best possible terms with all my pupils. 
Walter, however, was my special favorite and 
companion. He was a fine, manly little fellow, 
and was one of the most truthful and genuinely 
affectionate children I ever met. 

Greenwood was a lovely place, and was sur- 
rounded by some of the finest and pleasantest 
scenery I have ever beheld. But a short distance 
from the house a fine old forest of native trees, 
some of whose gnarled and twisted trunks, and 
spreading, shaggy limbs, seemed to have wrestled 
with the storms of a thousand years, afforded a 
magnificent shade, and wooed one to rest from the 
heat of a summer day ; while a carpet of greenest 
verdure, spangled here and there with fiowers of 
richest hue, furnished for wearied limbs a couch 
which the softest eider of a monarch's bed might 
envy. Through this leafy dell murmured a lovely 
stream, which, now compressed by jutting rocks 
into an infant torrent, anon plunging headlong 
down some miniature cascade, and spanned here 
and there with rustic bridges, presented a scene of 
attraction which I was powerless to resist. 

My duties were not arduous, and many an hour 
of sweet and calm content did Walter, Flora and 
myself, spend in the old forests, and along the 
gurgling brooks, while we culled the richest flow- 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD. 175 

ers and wove brightest garlands of beauty ; or, 
seated in some lonely nook, I would read to them 
some entertaining book suited to their comprehen- 
sion, or charm their childish fancies with some 
wierd story of fairly-land. But nothing I could 
read or tell charmed them more than the simple 
story of the Savior of mankind, His sufferings 
and death ; and when I told them of Him, and of 
their mother, who was now an angel in His bright 
presence, their little eyes would fill with tears, and 
they would beg me to teach them to be good, so 
that they might one day join her in those blest 
regions beyond the skies. Oh ! these were happy 
days ; and though there were some thorns in my 
daily path, still in the main it was pleasant, and I 
went bravely on, gathering the flowers, and heed- 
less that my hands and feet were occasionally 
wounded. 

Thus the spring wore away, and I found myself 
really in love with Greenwood, as summer devel- 
oped more fully its inherent charms. And 44 many 
a time and oft " I said to myself, " Surely my lines 
have fallen unto me in pleasant places ;" and, in 
my inmost soul, I thanked that Providence who 
had led my footsteps to such a peaceful haven. 

Ella's beauty and vivacity, and the well-known 
wealth, gentlemanly bearing, and good taste of 
Mr. Hale, made Greenwood a favorite place of 
resort for the young people of the neighborhood ; 
and Miss Kate, with the fussy grandiloquence 
characteristic of her class of individuals, never 



176 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

wearied of entertaining them. The consequence 
very naturally was, that they received a great deal 
of company, of which, however, I saw but very lit- 
tle. When they urged me, as they sometimes 
would, to mingle with the gay throng in the par- 
lors, I used to laughingly answer : 

" If I go once into society I shall have to keep 
it up — nay, perhaps I will grow fond of it ; and 
that would put an end to all my quiet, peaceful 
interest in little things. So, while I am happy 
in my ignorance of the world, I will remain so. 
£ Where ignorance is bliss,' etc." 

Another reason for my self-seclusion was, that 
my wardrobe was not such as to permit me to 
shine in the circle in which they moved. True, I 
was well supplied with simple, tasteful, and com- 
fortable dresses ; but Ella's full dress for one even- 
ing's party doubtless cost more than my whole 
trunk and contents ; and, though I was not really 
proud, still I must be allowed to say that no girl 
in her teens would relish such strong contrasts ; 
and so I lived on in my little world, not mingling 
with, or caring for, the gayer one in which they 
moved. And I never thought they really cared 
much to have it otherwise, but only invited me 
into the parlor out of politeness. But even this 
ceased after a time. 

I had been at Greenwood about six months when, 
one evening, Ella came into my room in as pretty 
a "pet" as can well be imagined. 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD. 177 



" Are you at leisure, Miss Harrison ?" she said, 
as soon as she got inside the door. 

"Entirely so," I answered, laying down my 
walking-hat ; for I had just come in from a stroll 
with Walter and Flora. 

" Then, please help me. Aunt Kate is cross and 
hateful this evening, and I won't go near her;" 
and the spoiled beauty threw herself violently in- 
to an arm-chair, by way of giving emphasis to 
her assertion. 

"Certainly, my dear, if you will only tell me 
how," I replied, not a little amused at her man- 
ner. 

" You must write a letter for me," she said. 

" Write a letter for you ?" I replied slowly, and 
in some surprise. 

" Yes ; you must write a letter for me," she said. 
" I suppose I may as well tell you all about it ?" 
she said, interrogatively. 

" Certainly," said I, laughing in spite of myself. 

"Well," said she, rising and going to the glass, 
where she stood twining her rich auburn curls 
about her fingers, " last winter a young friend of 
pa's, by the name of William LaCorne, paid us a 
visit. He is very talented and very wealthy — 
owns ' The Cedars,' you know, and all that. He's 
been traveling ever since he left college, and has 
sent me a great many books and papers, etc. He 
paid me a great deal of attention while he was 
here, and pa was very much pleased ; and now he 
has written me a letter, and pa says I must an- 

12 



178 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



swer it ; but he is so talented the idea really 
frightens me, and aunt is so out of humor that I 
can't go to her for assistance, and so I come to 
you. Now, do you understand ?" 

" But what am I to do ?" I asked, in utter amaze- 
ment. 

" Why, just write me a nice letter, all punctu- 
ated, and all that sort of thing, and I'll copy it. 
You can do it. You are so clever — you know you 
have to be — while I am such a dunce." 

All this time she was standing before the glass, 
no doubt thinking, u though a dunce, I am a most 
irresistible one." Surprise kept me silent some 
moments. 

" Well," said she, at length, turning pettishly 
toward me, " can't you do it ?" 

" But, Miss Hale, would it be right ?" 

" Who will know it ?" she cried, interrupting 
me. " Of course you will never tell it. Come, 
get some paper and write it for me. That's a 
good girl," she added, coaxingly. 

I opened my writing-desk, and, with a mind as 
blank as the white sheet before me, sat looking 
helplessly at her. 

" Why, you silly girl," said she, impatiently, 
;< don't you know you must read his letter first, so 
as to know what to write ? Here it is. And now 
I must go and take a ride with Harry Jones, who 
is six times pleasanter than that great, stately 
Mr. LaCorne, only pa can't bear him. Now, be 
sure and have it written by the time I get back, so 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD. 179 



I can copy it. Make it real smart and nice," and 
away she went. 

When I was alone, the absurdity of the whole 
affair came over my mind in all its force, and I 
laughed aloud. Again and again I tried to com- 
pose myself sufficiently to do what she had asked 
of me, and as often the attempt was a failure. 
The idea of writing letters for anybody but my- 
self, and especially for a young girl, to one who 
was designed for her husband, was entirely too 
much for my gravity. Reflecting at length, how- 
ever, that I must commence operations if I was to 
accomplish anything before her return, I opened 
and read the letter which she had handed me with 
so much confidence. 

It was not such a letter as a lover might be ex- 
pected to write to his sweetheart, but still a kind, 
genial and friendly missive, and one which mani- 
fested considerable interest in the person to whom 
it was addressed. It was evident from its general 
tone that Mr. LaCorne was a gentleman of culti- 
vation and refinement — honest and frank withal, 
but, perhaps, a little cynical at times. At least I 
so inferred from certain passages in the epistle 
before me. 

Having completed my estimate of his character, 
all my difficulties vanished at once, and I began 
to write, just as I would if the letter had been ad- 
dressed to me. My pen flew over the pages, and 
almost before I was aware of it, my sheet was so 
full that there was barely room for the signature. 



180 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



My work was completed some time before Miss 
Ella came in from her ride ; but, at last she made 
her appearance, all flushed, and with her hair 
blown by the wind into strange disorder, but, from 
that circumstance, looking more beautiful than 
when she went away. 

"Have you written that tiresome letter?" she 
asked. 

I replied by handing her a sheet of paper, all 
four of whose sides were filled almost to overflow- 
ing. 

" What's all this ?" she asked, throwing herself 
on my bed, and placing both pillows under her 
head. " Do read it to me. I am too tired." 

I complied without remark. 

" I don't half like it," she said when I had fin- 
ished. " Why did you not tell him about the 
company we have had since he was here — our 
boating parties, rides and dances, and all that sort 
of thing, instead of all that talk about books and 
nature ?" 

"Miss Hale," said I, my face flushing in spite 
of myself, for my feelings were really hurt by her 
remarks, "you forget that I know nothing of those 
things ; besides, you gave me no intimation of 
what you wanted written, and I have but followed 
the dictates of my own judgment. However, if 
you will give me some idea of the kind of a letter 
you want written, I will try again." 

"Oh! no," she said, carelessly. "I have not 
time to wait. I am going out again this evening, 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD. 181 



and, besides, I remember he likes that style. Let 
me have it." 

I handed it to her. 

" It is such a bore to re-write it," she said, " I 
believe I will send it just as it is." 

"Oh! no, no, Miss Hale," I exclaimed, "you 
had better copy it. He may find it out some 
tame." 

" Oh ! there's no danger. I don't see that it is 
necessary to copy it; and, besides, I haven't 
time ; " and the willful girl rose and left the room, 
carrying my letter with her. 

I was astounded at the thought of my letter, in 
my own handwriting, going to a perfect stranger, 
but reflecting that there was no probability of his 
ever discovering who was the author of the mis- 
sive, and that she alone would have to bear the 
consequences of any discovery that might be 
made, I finally dismissed the subject from my 
thoughts. It must be confessed, however, that my 
mind often reverted to the subject, and that, as 
the time approached at which an answer might be 
expected, I was frequently a prey to the most un- 
bounded curiosity to know how my adventure was 
received. 

Mr. LaCorne, the unknown being who was cre- 
ating such a commotion in my little world, was a 
young man of about twenty-eight years of age. 
He was the only son of a very wealthy gentleman 
of French extraction, who, after the death of his 
wife, which occurred when William was barely 



182 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



seven years of age, had devoted almost his entire 
time to the care and education of his infant son. 
He had given him the best education which the 
institutions of the country afforded, and had 
sought, by judicious culture and training, to sup- 
ply, so far as was in his power, that want of which 
the boy was deprived by the death of his excellent 
mother ; and the result had been most happy, for 
William grew up with a breadth of intellect, 
acuteness of perception, and correctness of princi- 
ple, seldom met with among the young men of the 
present day. 

About ten years after the death of his wife, Mr. 
LaCorne had purchased "The Cedars," a lovely 
estate about a mile from Greenwood, and watered 
by the same beautiful stream of which mention 
has already been made, and had since resided 
there with his son (save when the latter was away 
at school, which was most of the time,) until his 
death, which took place when William was within 
a few days of twenty-one. William, who had 
loved his father with sincere and earnest affection, 
found the place too lonely after his death, and 
had passed very little time there — but, leaving the 
place in charge of faithful tenants, had traveled 
almost constantly for the last seven years. 

These facts I gathered from Ella Hale, and 
though the beauty of the grounds pertaining to 
" The Cedars " had long rendered it a favorite ob- 
jective point in my almost daily rambles with 
Walter and Flora, I will admit to you, dear 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD. 183 



reader, in the strictest confidence, that my interest 
in them was not a little increased by the some- 
what peculiar correspondence in which I was en- 
gaged with the owner. 

A few weeks after the letter- writing scene which 
I have detailed, Ella came bursting into my room 
in her usual wild and impetuous way. 

" Here is some more work for you, Miss Harri- 
son," she said. "The post-boy has just brought 
me this most punctual reply to my — your — letter, 
and, as it is one which I never can answer, you 
must do it for me." 

"Had you not better answer this one yourself?" 
I asked, with a spice of malice. " You know my 
composition did not suit you very well before." 

" Not suit me very well ! " said the beauty, 
opening wide her eyes in pretended astonishment. 
"Just see how complimentary he is, and how 
earnestly he solicits a speedy reply. Come, dear 
Miss Delia, you must keep up this correspond- 
ence, for pa is determined I shall marry him, and 
you know I never could write anything." 

" But how will it be when he finds out all about 
it, as he must, sooner or later?" I asked, seeking 
to preserve my consistency by a show of objection, 
although, in truth, I was burning with anxiety to 
see and answer the letter which she was twirling 
in her fingers. 

" Oh ! he'll never find it out, at least not until 
after we are married, and then I can please him 
well enough to make it all right," said she, with a 



184 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



glance of pride at the beautiful image reflected in 
the mirror. "Here," continued she, with sudden 
impetuosity, tossing the letter in my lap as she 
spoke, " take this and go to work, while I go and 
dress for a horseback ride with Harry ; " and she 
rushed from the room before I could reply. 

I opened the letter with some trepidation, but 
as I read it, all my trembling vanished. I had 
feared, from Ella's description of him, that my 
correspondence would be very uninteresting to 
him, but here was a reply evidently written in the 
same spirit as the messenger which had called it 
forth. It was a spirited, merry answer, and en- 
tirely free from the spirit of pedantry which I had 
always associated in my mind with persons who 
had traveled a great deal. The writer had evi- 
dently entered into all my fancies, and seized my 
best thoughts, and had soared with me almost be- 
yond my height ; yet he was pleased, genial, and, 
more than all, congenial. Such a letter written to 
me, by one so deserving of the highest respect as 
was Mr. LaCorne, would have made me perfectly 
happy ; but, alas! it was not for me— I was feast- 
ing upon stolen sweets. I wondered how Ella 
could be so unappreciative of the treasure which, 
I felt sure, it was in her power to win ; and then, 
steadying my feelings, which had been somewhat 
stirred, I seated myself at my desk to respond. 

The letter was easily answered. There was 
something in it which called what powers I pos- 
sessed into full activity, and my task was much 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD. 185 



easier than at first. I wrote a perfectly natural 
reply, and the correspondence was fairly inaugur- 
ated. 

From that time we exchanged letters weekly, 
and the same kind, genial tone pervaded all his 
communications. He wrote no word of love, but 
often said he looked forward, with earnest anx- 
iety, to the period of his return home, that he 
might meet his fair correspondent once more. I 
soon found myself growing dangerously interested 
in these letters. I regarded them as my property, 
and could scarcely bear that they should be ad- 
dressed to her. She never seemed to care for them 
or appreciate them, and so I kept them safely 
locked Up in my writing-desk, and many an hour, 
when I was alone, did I spend in reading and re- 
reading their glowing lines, until I almost knew 
them by heart. 

At last came one entirely different from any 
that had preceded it. Mr. LaCorne was ill and 
despondent, and he longed for the society of some 
loving friend to cheer and comfort him, or, at 
least, for the assurance that he was kindly thought 
of — that there was some one who felt an interest 
in his welfare. His letter was full of this hungry 
longing, and it touched with emotion my woman's 
heart, already too keenly alive to his sentiments, 
and too much interested in all he thought or said 
or did. 

I know not what was the nature of my reply, 
but a considerable longer time than usual elapsed 



186 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

after this was sent, and then came an answer 
which overwhelmed me with emotion and aston- 
ishment. It was a most ardent avowal of love, 
and implored her to become his wife, to share his 
lot, and to shield him forever from the depression 
which had lately hung around him. Ella brought 
it to me, proud and exultant. 

" Only one more letter, Miss Harrison," she said, 
gleefully. " See ! he has proposed ; and if my an- 
swer is favorable, he is coming home in three 
weeks. Wouldn't he be surprised if he only knew 
all ? " and she laughed heartily. 

Had a thunderbolt fallen at my feet from a 
cloudless sky, I could not have been more startled 
and shocked than I was. The last two letters, and 
her words, had opened my eyes and revealed the 
true state of my feelings to myself; and for the 
first time, I saw what I was doing, and knew that 
I loved this man. A flush of mortified pride and 
womanly shame covered my face with a crimson 
glow, and my voice was agitated and tremulous as 
I replied : 

"Miss Hale, I cannot answer this letter for you; 
indeed I can not. I wish I had never written a 
word of them. It was dishonorable from the first, 
and has only wrought mischief. Write to him 
yourself and tell him all about it. This is now the 
only way to avoid trouble." 

"I shall do no such thing, and you must not 
either," she replied, impatiently. "Promise me 
you will never tell him." 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD. 187 

" Of course I shall never tell hiin — I shall never 
see him, you know — but I think you ought ; " and 
I burst into tears. 

"What are you crying about?" she asked, 
almost angrily. 

I made no reply — indeed it was out of my power 
to answer. I was too unhappy. I realized that a 
great wrong had been committed in trying to make 
him think she loved him when I knew she did not ; 
and more than all, it seemed to me that, by my 
own conduct, I had built up an impassible barrier 
between myself and a true heart, which might, 
perchance, otherwise have been mine. I was 
supremely wretched. For a few minutes neither 
one spoke. 

"Are you in earnest about writing for me?" she 
at length asked. 
" Indeed, I am." 

" Well, I don't care. I can write for myself this 
time. It will only take a few words to answer this 
letter;" and, so saying, she left the room. 

When she was gone I sat down, as calmly as 
possible, to think over the matter, and see what 
could be done, if anything. How fully I realized, 
now that it was too late, my folly in ever consent- 
ing to write for her ! — but now that it was done, I 
was unable to devise any means to avoid the diffi- 
culty which I was almost sure would follow. My 
promise of secrecy, so thoughtlessly given, bound 
me to silence ; and after trying in vain to discover 



188 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

some mode of escape, I gave it up, only resolving 
never to be caught in a like situation again. 

Ella went to her own room, and for a long time 
tried in vain to produce something which would 
meet her ideas of a proper acceptance of the prop- 
osition which had been received with so much ela- 
tion ; but the truth is, she was unequal to the task 
of writing a letter of more importance than an 
account of some party or ride. Her education had 
been very superficial at the best ; and since she 
had left school her time and attention had been 
so much engrossed with the frivolities and gayeties 
of the circle in which she moved, as to drive com- 
pletely out of her mind even the few ideas which 
had found a lodgment there. 

Sheet after sheet was wasted in a vain attempt 
to indite a respectable missive ; and at last, de- 
spairing of success, she sought her aunt and 
implored her assistance. 

" Let me see what you have written," said that 
worthy. 

Ella, not without some misgivings, produced the 
last of her abortive efforts, and silently placed it 
before her aunt, who, when she had read it, burst 
into the most violent laughter. Ella was almost 
ready to cry with vexation, and, with flushed face, 
turned to leave the room. 

" Stay," said Miss Hale, " do not be so hasty ; I 
will write a letter for you and you can copy it. 
You are not to blame for your failure — never hav- 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD. 189 



ing had any experience ; but I could not help 
laughing at your crude production." 

An unprejudiced mind might have had the faint- 
est possible suspicion that, inasmuch as Miss Kate 
Hale had lived to the mature age of half a century 
without ever having received a proposition, her ex- 
perience might be almost as deficient as that of 
her niece, and certainly the letter which she com- 
posed, and which came into my possession long 
afterward, would not entirely rebut such a sus- 
picion. But at that time Ella was too much 
engrossed with the idea of obtaining relief from 
her troubles to criticise, or even to notice, her 
aunt's assumption of superiority in this respect. 

Miss Kate Hale, notwithstanding the vinegar in 
her disposition, was extremely sentimental, and 
she regarded this as a most excellent opportunity 
to indulge her sentimentality to the utmost ; and 
of a most gushing nature was the letter which she 
produced. I will not inflict upon my readers a 
copy of this remarkable composition — my respect 
for them is entirely too sincere for that — but will 
simply ask them to imagine the effect of such a 
document upon the highly cultivated and refined 
mind of William LaCorne. 

His astonishment upon reading this letter, so 
different in tone and manner from those he had 
before received, was extreme, and he could hardly 
believe he was not dreaming. The handwriting, 
too, was entirely different from that which he had 
been accustomed to read, and added no little to his 



190 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

mystification. After much cogitation, lie could 
only arrive at the very just and reasonable con- 
clusion that he had been most grossly deceived. 
Either Ella was incapable of carrying on an intel- 
ligent and cultivated correspondence, and had 
employed some one else to write the letters which 
he had so highly prized, or she was making game 
of him by employing another to write the answer 
to what he deemed the most important letter of the 
whole series. In either event she was not the 
woman he wanted for a wife. He determined to 
hasten his preparations for his return home, and 
there investigate the mystery. 

As for Ella, she pouted two or three days over 
my refusal to aid her, and then she resumed her 
old ways of easy freedom with me, coming into 
my room at any and all hours of the day ; throw- 
ing herself upon my bed or elsewhere, as suited 
her mood, and talking with the most unconstrained 
freedom about her approaching marriage. She 
was so constituted that she must have some one to 
talk to, and there was but little sympathy between 
herself and her aunt. 

"I tell you, Miss Harrison," she would say, "I 
am not one bit in love with Mr. LaCorne, — he is so 
grand and stately ; and I like Harry Jones ever so 
much better, but then he is poor, and a home at 
' The Cedars ? is not to be despised. I showed pa 
his last letter, and he is perfectly wild with de- 
light. He thinks he will have the nicest son-in- 
law in the country. But I shall not marry just 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD. 



191 



yet. I am too young, and besides, I do so want to 
spend one season at Saratoga. Then it will be 
time enough to settle down and bury one's self at 
' The Cedars.' Dear ! how stupid it will be." 

And thus the silly girl would rattle on, while 
my heart was almost bursting with the effort to 
conceal its emotion, and my spirit was shocked at 
the little importance and solemnity which her van- 
ity attached to the sacred relations she was about 
to assume. But I could say nothing. It was use- 
less to remonstrate or reason with her, and all I 
could do was to conceal my own feelings, and 
strive to regain some portion of the peace I had 
lost by the part I had taken in this unfortunate 
affair. 



PAET SECOND. 

It was a beautiful evening in that most lovely 
of all seasons, when the intense heat of the sum- 
mer had been somewhat tempered by the first pre- 
monitory blasts of the still far-off winter. The air 
was pleasant and salubrious, and retained just 
enough of summer's warmth to be comfortable 
without being oppressive. The earth was laden 
far and near with its wealth of golden produc- 
tions, rejoicing the hearts of the children of men 
with the contemplation of the bounteous benefi- 
cence of the Giver of all. The moon, now almost 
at its full, lit up with its shimmering, silvery rays 



192 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



the entire landscape, and brought out into bold 
and beautiful relief the dark, old forest, amid 
whose cool shades I had spent so many happy 
hours since coming to Greenwood. 

Some changes had taken place in our household 
since it was first introduced to the reader. Mollie 
had grown sufficiently to mingle in society and be 
considered a young lady — and, therefore, out of 
the control of a governess, — while Walter had 
been sent away to college ; thus reducing my little 
class to two — Mattie and Flora. But Mr. Hale 
would not consent to dispense with my services. I 
had been so fortunate as to discharge my duties in 
such a manner as to meet his entire approbation, 
and he laughingly declared that I could never 
leave the family until the last one of my charges 
was married. 

A gay and happy throng were assembled in the 
spacious parlors of Greenwood. Mr. LaCorne had 
returned to his home, had paid his respects to his 
promised bride, and had then taken formal pos- 
session of the home from which he had so long 
been a self-constituted exile ; and this party had 
been gotten up by Ella to celebrate his return. 
In vain had she urged me to forego my accus- 
tomed reserve and mingle with the happy com- 
pany. On this occasion of all others was I indis- 
posed to enter the parlor, for I could not forget 
the deception practiced upon Mr. LaCorne, and to 
which I had been a party, and I dreaded the idea 
of meeting him. And so, on this evening I sat 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD. 193 



alone in my room, holding silent communion with 
my own thoughts, and occasionally listening to 
the sounds of merriment which ever and anon 
ascended from the parlor, and floated in through 
the open casement. 

While I sat thus, in dreamy listlessness, amid 
the growing darkness, a servant came to say that 
Mr. Hale desired to see me in the library. In obe- 
dience to the summons, I at once descended the 
staircase, and found Mr. Hale slowly pacing the 
library floor. 

" Good evening, Miss Harrison," he said, with a 
polite bow, as I entered the room. 

" Good evening, Mr. Hale. Did you send for 
me ?" 

" I did. I wish you would oblige me by going 
into the parlor this evening," he said. " You are 
getting entirely too blue, spending so much time 
in that prison of yours up stairs." 

" Pray, excuse me, Mr. Hale," I replied. " I am 
very happy in my ignorance of the gay world, and 
have no desire to know more of it. Besides, Miss 
Ella asked me to go down this evening, and I 
refused." 

" So she told me ; but we are all very anxious 
to have you break over your rule this once, and I 
told her I would exert my authority in the case," 
said he, laughingly ; " and I warn you not to defy 
it." 

I shook my head deprecatingly. 

" Come, Miss Harrison, pray oblige me this 

13 



194 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



once," he said, in a tone of respectful entreaty. 

" But my dress is not fit to mingle in the crowd 
of beauty and fashion in your parlors," I said, in 
a hesitating manner. 

" Your dress is just the thing," said he. "Noth- 
ing could be more becoming to you than that sim- 
ple white lawn, and those verbenas twined in 
your dark curls." 

As he spoke, he took hold of my arm, and al- 
most before I was aware of it, I was ushered into 
the midst of the gay throng which filled the par- 
lors. My entire isolation from society had given 
me an air of reserve and embarrassment which 
was anything but prepossessing, and I dare say 
that my confusion, as I was introduced, attracted 
anything but the favorable notice of the lookers 
on. 

Ella was a chief center of attraction among this 
crowd of worshipers at the shrine of gayety and 
fashion. Her talents were just of the order which 
fitted her to shine in such circles, and, clad as she 
was, in purest white, and fairly blazing with jew- 
els, which lent additional luster to her remarkable 
beauty, she seemed in very deed a fairy queen 
holding court among her loyal subjects. 

At the moment of my entry, she was passing a 
sheet of paper and pencil from hand to hand. 
Each one was required to write a stanza of poetry 
— the selection to be left to themselves — -after 
which the medley thus formed was to be read 
aloud for the amusement and edification of the 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD 195 



company. Scarcely had I taken my seat, after 
being presented to several of the guests, when 
Ella handed me the paper and pencil. 

"Write something, Miss Harrison," she said, 
"no matter what — -just the first thing that comes 
into your mind." 

1 took the pencil and wrote : 

' ' I grow afraid of human eyes , 

Flashing and shining everywhere, 
Holding such fearful mystery 
Of souls in prison there. ' ' 

I had no particular motive in writing this stanza 
more than any other, but it was the first that came 
into my mind. But one other verse was written, 
and then the paper was handed to a young gen- 
tleman, by the name of Bennett, to be read aloud. 
The reading caused much merriment, and when 
my verse was read, a tall, fine-looking gentleman, 
who was sitting at the piano, turned suddenly 
round, and as soon as the reading was finished, 
said : 

" Let me see that, Mr. Bennett, if you please." 

He scanned it closely for a few moments, and 
then his great, dark eyes sought my face. In an 
instant my cheeks were suffused with a crimson 
glow : for, like a flash of lightning, with that 
earnest, searching glance, came across my mind 
the recollection that I had once written that 
verse to Mr. LaOorne. Of course, the tall, fine- 
looking gentleman could be none but he, and 
by writing the same verse now, I had betrayed 
the secret which I was so anxious to conceal. 



196 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE . 

I glanced at Ella. She was engaged in some 
light conversation with Harry Jones, and did not 
seem to notice the incident at all. Indeed, I very 
much doubt if she remembered ever to have heard 
these lines before. 

Soon afterward Mr. Hale came and asked me 
to sing and play, and the request being seconded 
by several gentlemen who sat near, I permitted 
him to lead me to the piano, and having recovered 
somewhat from my embarrassment, I played and 
sang several pieces. Ella, meanwhile, was near 
me, flirting most desperately with Harry Jones, 
but though I cast several furtive glances about 
me, I could nowhere see Mr. LaCorne. It was evi- 
dent that he paid her very little attention, and 
that she was flirting to punish him. 

The punishment, however, was probably very 
slight, for Mr. LaCorne was entirely different from 
the balance of the gay throng. He was a modest, 
natural, unassuming man, a true nobleman, pos- 
sessed of fine animal spirits and much dignity, 
but with a fine, highly-cultivated mind and acute 
perceptions, which at once detected dross and pre- 
tense, but withal, of a tender and kindly disposi- 
tion ; and this was the man whom I had deceived 
into an engagement with a vapid and silly 
coquette whom he despised from the bottom of 
his heart. 

After playing several pieces, I arose from the 
piano, and, as I turned round, met Mr. Hale, who 
introduced me to Mr. LaCorne. My cheeks ting- 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD. 197 



led, and I dared not look into his face, but ac- 
knowledged Ms salutation without raising my eyes, 
and, as soon as possible, made my escape. And, 
sick at heart, I left the room and sought the 
porch in the hope that the fresh air would quiet 
the excitement which pervaded my entire system. 
I leaned against one of the pillars and gazed out 
into the clear blue sky, and up at the calm, silvery 
moon, and vainly strove to quiet the tempest 
raging in my bosom. How I regretted that I had 
consented to go into the parlor at all. True, the 
mischief had all been done before, but I had not 
realized it as I now did until I had seen Mr. 
LaCorne, and knew just how noble he was. 

As I stood thus, communing with my own bitter 
thoughts, a step aroused my attention. I turned, 
and William LaCorne stood beside me, with his 
great dark eyes fixed full on my face, and, as I 
thought, with a look of sternness pervading his 
features. 

" I find that I owe my present happy situation 
to you, Miss Harrison," he said. " Will you tell 
me all about it ? " 

" I shook my head in silence, for I dared not 
trust myself to speak. I felt that I had unwitting- 
ly wronged this noble man, and had, by justly 
subjecting myself to his scorn and reproach, 
cast away a true heart, which my feelings whis- 
pered might otherwise have been mine, and this 
reflection filled me with bitterest emotion. 

As he received my negative, he turned and 



198 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

walked up and down the porch several times, I 
regarding him, meantime, with feelings I strove 
in vain to analyze. He finally stopped in front 
of me, and, folding his arms across his breast, 
stood for some moments apparently buried in 
thought. 

" What am I to do ? " he said, at last, in a tone 
of such bitter despondency that I burst into tears 
in spite of myself. " I do not blame you," he 
added, as he witnessed my emotion ; " you did 
it thoughtlessly, I have no doubt; but it has 
placed me in a very unpleasant position." 

" I thank you for your generosity," I said, my 
weeping having relieved my pent-up emotion 
somewhat ; " but I can never forgive myself for 
my share in the transaction. But I was inno- 
cent of any intentional wrong. Ella wished me 
to write as I would have done had the letters 
been my own, and I foolishly complied, but 
never thought it would lead to this ; " and again 
I felt a choking sensation in my throat. 

" Never mind," he said, kindly, holding out his 
hand, which I took ; " what is past cannot be 
helped. And now I must be permitted to tell you 
all about my relation to Miss Hale, and I would 
like to ask your advice." 

He paused, but I remained silent, and, after 
a moment, he resumed: 

"Last winter a year ago, was my first ac- 
quaintance with Miss Ella Hale. I had seen her 
years ago, when she was a little girl, but had 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD. 199 



then lost sight of her entirely. Returning from 
one of my annual journeys, I met her, and was 
surprised and pleased at the improvement in 
her personal appearance. When I went away 
again, I sent her books, papers, and so forth, 
and at last wrote her. You can imagine my 
surprise at the letter I received in reply, for a 
handsome face was all I had given her credit 
for. How the correspondence progressed you 
doubtless know full well ; and when I at last 
wrote of my love and my hopes, such a letter 
as I received ! It was no more like the pure, 
womanly letters which had so long been my 
solace and comfort, than day is like the black- 
ness of Erebus. It sounded like some old maid 
accepting an offer, with a long rigmarole about 
virgin affections, and so on. 

I laughed involuntarily. Mr. LaCorne looked 
keenly at me, and I hastened to apologize for 
my seeming rudeness. 

" Pardon me, Mr. LaCorne, but I could not help 
laughing at the accuracy with which you guess." 

"My suspicions are correct then, I see," he 
resumed. "You thought you had gone far 
enough, and so Miss Ella appealed to her aunt, 
who put in the finishing strokes with a vengeance. 
And now I want to have your advice as to how 
I can get out of the scrape." 

" I have no advice to give, Mr. LaCorne," I 
said. "Your own feelings and good judgment 
must be the best guide you can possibly have. I 



200 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE . 



think I have done my part in getting you into the 
difficulty," I added, with a faint attempt at levity. 

" Well," said he, firmly, " upon one thing I am 
determined. I will never marry her. They will, 
doubtless, call me a villain ; but I cannot consent 
to wreck my happiness for life by uniting my fate 
with one as vain and soulless as she is. I would 
blow my brains out before I would settle down to 
a life of such supreme misery as that would be." 

I made no reply, for I was almost frightened at 
his vehemence, and he resumed, in a gentler tone : 

"I shall leave this neighborhood in the morn- 
ing, Miss Harrison, and I shall miss your letters 
sadly. I think I should have recognized you as 
their author, even without the incident of the 
medley in the parlor. May I venture to ask a re- 
newal of the correspondence which formerly ex- 
isted between us ? " 

" It were better not, Mr. LaCorne," I answered ; 
" so long as we each sustain the relations to this 
family we now do, it could only result in trouble." 

" You are right," said he ; "and yet your letters 
would be a great comfort to me. I have given 
you no reason to entertain pleasant memories of 
me ; and yet I would not have you forgot me 
when I am gone." 

" Be assured, Mr. LaCorne," replied I, with 
emotion, " that I shall never forget the generosity 
with which you have treated my part in this sad 
affair." 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD. 201 



"And now, Miss Harrison, good-by," said he, 
once more extending his hand. 

" Good-by, Mr. LaCorne," said I, as my hand 
rested for a moment in his. 

Before I could anticipate his intentions, he had 
thrown his arm around my waist, and drawing 
me suddenly -to him, impressed a kiss upon my 
lips. In an instant I broke from his embrace, 
and fleeing to my room, threw myself upon the 
bed, and like a spoiled child, sobbed myself to 
sleep. 

The next day Ella came to me with her little 
heart full of trouble. Mr. LaCorne had sought 
an interview with her father the evening before, 
and had formally withdrawn his proposal for 
her hand, saying the engagement had been too 
hastily entered into ; that he felt assured she 
did not love him ; that he was too quiet and 
business-like for her, etc. 

That morning her father had sent for her in a 
towering passion. ■ He had upbraided her for her 
flirtations with Harry Jones, declared that that 
was what had caused the breach and lost her a 
home at " The Cedars," and wound up by telling 
her she should be sent off to the home of a cousin 
in some out-of-the-way place to stay all winter, 
and that he did not want to see her again until 
she had learned a little more discretion. 

"I did not tell pa," she continued ; " but I know 
what was the trouble. Mr. LaCorne knew that 
the verse last night and the letters were written 



202 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



by the same hand—he thought he had been de- 
ceived, and was angry, and that is all. But I 
don't care. I prefer Harry Jones decidedly — only 
pa is so very angry ; he won't speak to me at 
all, now." 

And so the spoilt girl went on, never realizing 
that she had lost a true and noble heart— -one 
that might have made the wealth of any life — vain 
and heartless coquette that she was. 

I am afraid the reader will accuse me of some 
degree of selfishness ; but, nevertheless, the truth 
must be told. I could not regret it when Ella told 
me that her engagement with the owner of " The 
Cedars " was forever broken off. Nay, more ; I 
will confess that when she told me, my heart gave 
a great leap upward, for something told me that he 
loved me, and that my happiness was yet to be 
reared — a stately edifice, and ever-enduring — upon 
the ruins of her ambition. 

Ella soon after went away, and for a time the 
hours passed wearily enough. Despite her way- 
ward spirit and fitful moods, Ella was a good girl 
at heart, and I believe loved me as much as she 
was capable of loving any one ; and as my duties 
to my two remaining pupils, and the instruction 
in music which Mollie still received, did not em- 
ploy half my time, I missed her society sadly. 
True, Mr. Hale was very kind to me- — at times, I 
fancied, almost more than kind — but still he could 
not supply the void which existed in my heart, 
and the nature of which I could hardly define 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD. 203 



to myself; and between his sister and myself, 
though she was ever kind to me in her way, there 
was no shadow of sympathy. 

The seasons wore away as they always have 
and always will, and spring had come and almost 
gone again with its garlands of beauteous flowers, 
and Mr. Hale was becoming impatient for Ella's 
return. Vexed as he had been at her conduct in 
regard to Mr. LaCorne, he nevertheless loved 
her, and Greenwood was to him very lonely 
without the music of her gay carol and patter- 
ing, dancing footsteps. At length he could en- 
dure it no longer, and dispatched a letter sum- 
moning her home, and fixing a day upon which 
he would meet her at the depot. 

In due time he received a reply, for which, 
however, he was but little prepared. It contain- 
ed the surprising information that she would 
come on the day designated, accompanied by 
her husband, Harry Jones; that they would be 
married that morning, and that, if he was not 
willing to welcome them, it would make but 
little difference, as they could go to Mr. Jones'. 

To say that Mr. Hale was surprised at this 
letter, aside from its impudent tone, would but 
feebly express his feelings. For a time he felt 
like disowning the girl who could thus go in 
direct opposition to what she knew to be his 
wishes ; then he thought of taking steps to pre- 
vent the marriage, but finally came to the con- 
clusion that, inasmuch as there was really noth- 



204 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



ing very exceptionable in the man she had 
chosen, he would make the best of it. Accord- 
ingly, he wrote her again, sending his blessing, 
and informed her that he had issued cards for a 
grand reception, to be held on the day of her 
arrival. It is just possible that the preparations 
for the party were gotten up on a scale somewhat 
inferior to what they would have been had she 
married a wealthier man ; for Mr. Hale was some- 
thing of a Mammon worshiper, but still it was 
a very nice affair. 

I need not weary the reader with an accout of 
Ella's arrival and her appearance, and that of her 
husband; suffice it to say that she seemed just as 
wild and giddy as ever, and appeared to have no 
more comprehension of the solemnity of the rela- 
tion she had assumed than a child of five years 
would have had. 

Of course I participated in this party. Ella 
would have been very much hurt if I had not, and, 
to my own surprise, I felt very little disinclination 
to do so. Ordinarily, I went into a gay party 
with about the same feeling with which a school- 
boy goes to receive a threatened punishment; but 
on this occasion, although not at all elated, I 
made my preparations for the evening with no re- 
pugnance. 

It was a gay and careless throng which filled 
Greenwood parlors that evening. The merriment 
which prevailed was of an order with which I had 
nothing in common, and I was feeling but the very 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD. 205 



least bit of weariness when a Mr. Ambrose came 
to my relief by asking me to favor him with some 
music. Being passionately fond of the art, I 
needed no second invitation, but at once accom- 
panied him to the piano, where I played and sang, 
I know not how long, for I was always too much 
engrossed to take any note of time. Suddenly I 
was aroused to consciousness by some one at my 
side saying : 

"I protest, Miss Harrison, against your consum- 
ing the entire evening and wearing yourself out 
for Mr. Ambrose's pleasure. Here I have been 
waiting in vain for an hour to get a chance to 
speak with you." 

I turned to the speaker. It was none other than 
William LaCorne. Surprise kept me silent for a 
moment, for I would as soon have thought of meet- 
ing the Prince of Wales. 

u Come," said he, offering his arm as he per- 
ceived my embarrassment, " you are weary ; let us 
go into the open air — it will refresh you." 

It was no easy matter for us to get through the 
crowd around the piano, but at length we accom- 
plished the feat and reached the porch which had 
been the scene of our first conversation with each 
other. Now, as then, the moon was almost at its 
full, and was shedding its silvery light far and 
near over the face of the earth. 

He placed a chair for me, and, drawing another 
for himself, sat down and looked earnestly in my 
face. For a short time neither one spoke. I was 



206 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



thinking of our first interview there months before, 
and doubtless his thoughts were running in the 
same channel. At length he spoke : 

" It was not all fatigue, Miss Harrison ; you 
have been getting pale since I last saw you. 
Y^hat has been the matter ? " 

I did not speak. I knew very well what was 
the matter with me, but I could not tell him. 

"Have you not been happy?" he asked. 

Still no answer. 

"I have wanted so much to see or hear from 
you, and could not," he said, " that at last I could 
stand it no longer, and came home, for you have 
scarcely been out of my mind a moment since I 
went away. Have you ever thought of me, Miss 
Harrison ?" 

"Yes, Mr. LaCorne," I replied; "I have often 
thought of the part I took in deceiving you, and 
have as often regretted it." 

" I do not regret it at all," he said, " since it has 
been the means of our becoming acquainted." 

"But I supposed you had gone away to stay. 
Why are you here ? " 

"I came down to 'The Cedars' solely for the 
purpose of seeing you, not doubting I should be 
able to devise some means to do so without sub- 
jecting you to any annoyance. Fortune favored 
me, for the very evening of my return a servant 
brought me an invitation to Ella's reception, and 
here I am," said he, smiling. 

"Have you seen her?" I asked. 



THE GOVERNESS OF GREENWOOD . 207 



" Oh | yes ; I congratulated her as heartily as 
any one in the room. And I venture to say," he 
added, "with at least as much sincerity as any 
one." 

Another period of silence ensued, and then — 

But I cannot pretend to tell the reader what was 
said and done. It was not all my own secret, and, 
even it were, I am not sure that I could recount it. 
Suffice it to say, that when we left that porch that 
evening I had promised to become Mrs. Delia 
LaCorne at the end of three months. I could 
hardly realize my own happiness ; and when I 
sought my room that night I could scarcely per- 
suade myself that it was not all a dream. But if 
it was, thank God, I have never awakened from it, 
for my life has since been one long scene of calm 
content and peace. 

A few days after our marriage I was in my own 
room at "The Cedars," and was arranging my 
writing-desk, when my husband came in. 

"What is this, Delia?" he said, pointing to a 
large package which lay on the top of the desk. 

I laughed and attempted to snatch it up, but he 
was too quick for me, and in a moment he was ex- 
amining it. 

" Grand larceny — I protest," said he. " Here 
you have written (mine) on every one of these let- 
ters written by me to Ella Hale. What have you 
to say for yourself?" 

"Only this, Master Impudence," said I, as I 
snatched the package from him, " that I had more 



208 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

to do with them, and cared more for them, than 
she did, and by all rules of right and justice they 
belong to me." 

He left the room and returned in a moment with 
a package of letters as large as my own, upon 
each of which he had written, " from Delia." The 
two packages still safely repose side by side in 
the most private drawer of my husband's desk, 
and often he calls my attention to them, and asks 
me if I am sorry for having written them — a ques- 
tion to which he is very certain of receiving a neg- 
ative answer. 

Years have passed since then, and William and 
I are becoming old. Our steps are halting and 
feeble, and our heads are whitening for the tomb, 
but we have preserved our love for each other 
green in our souls, and our hearts are as young as 
when we were married just a half a century ago. 

Of the friends by whom we were surrounded 
then, nearly all have bowed to the stern fiat of 
the grim tyrant of the human race. Mr. Hale, his 
sister and Ella have all been gathered to their 
Father long since. Walter is married and lives 
at Greenwood, where also reside Flora and her 
husband. Mollie and Mattie both sleep in a 
pleasant nook in the church-yard, where loving 
hands have reared a beautiful monument to their 
memory. 

But I must lay aside the pen. Delia, my oldest 
grandchild (I have three of them), requires my 
assistance in repairing some of her doll's clothing, 
and her will is law. 



X. 



MARY REYNOLDS. 

Maey Reynolds, the subject of this sketch, 
was born in the year 1842, in the very pleasant 
little village of Ada, in the State of Ohio. She 
was the sixth of a family of seven children, five 
of whom were boys and two girls. Between her 
only sister — who, at the time of her birth, was 
some fourteen years of age — and herself, there was 
little community of feeling, thought or action, 
owing, in part, to the great disparity in their ages, 
and, in part, to their striking difference of charac- 
ter and disposition ; for Elizabeth (the eldest) was 
gay, frivolous and light-hearted, fond of company 
and display, ever ready to exhibit her charms of 
mind and person to the best possible advantage, 
and never so happy as when receiving the plaud- 
its and exciting the admiration of the circle in 
which she moved ; while Mary, on the other hand, 
was sensitive and retiring, almost timid, shunned 
society, and was never so happy as when listening 
to some old story in which were portrayed feelings 
and emotions which a mere casual observer would 
have deemed beyond the comprehension of her 
years. Prominent among the stories which en- 

14 (209) 



210 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

wrapt her attention, were those drawn from the 
Word of God descriptive of the life and character 
of the Savior of mankind ; for there was a strong 
devotional element mingling and running through- 
out the whole of her character — a sort of intuitive 
perception of the character and attributes of the 
Supreme Ruler of the universe — remarkable in one 
so young, whose life had been passed amid the 
surroundings which enveloped hers ; for it must be 
confessed that no part of this feeling was attribut- 
able to religious teaching at the hands of her par- 
ents. Though by no means immoral, or transgress- 
ing any law of social well-being, they were still 
strangers to the sublime teachings and admoni- 
tions of saving grace, and found their abode with- 
out the pale of any evangelical church. Mr. Rey- 
nolds was a firm believer in the dangerous tenets 
of Universalism, and, though the faith of his wife 
was less decided than his, still her inclinations 
were in the same direction, and both had come to 
look almost with the jaundiced eyes of skepticism 
upon the lessons inculcated in the Holy Word. 
And, with the single exception of our heroine, the 
entire flock seemed disposed to tread, without 
questioning, in the footsteps of their ancestors. 

Whence, then, came the sentiments which moved 
in her bosom, and presented in her character so 
strong a contrast to those of the other members of 
the family ? This is a question more easily asked 
than answered. Certain it is, that, from the earli 
est period of her recollection, she had felt within 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



211 



her soul the presence of a First Great Cause, and 
that the feeling had been developed and strength- 
ened by listening, at stolen intervals, to the con- 
versation of devout and pious people, until the 
sentiment overmastered every other emotion of 
her breast. And often, in the solitude of the 
night, as well as in the clear light of day, did she 
pour out the whole of her soul in childish devo- 
tion to that Being whom she recognized, in her 
simple faith, as the King of heaven and earth. 

The contrast between the mental characteristics 
of Mary and the rest of the family was not great- 
er than that of their physical natures. And es- 
pecially was this true of Mary and her sister. 
While Elizabeth was tall, graceful and blooming, 
the very picture of health and strength, agile and 
graceful as a fawn, Mary was feeble, pale and 
fragile, looking, at all times, almost as though a 
rude breeze would blow her away, while the most 
trifling exertion would cause her to pant with 
weariness. Indeed, so frail seemed her constitu- 
tion, that it was a matter of very grave doubt, 
during the earlier years of her life, whether she 
would live to attain the age of maturity. And 
many friends of the family, as they looked upon 
her fragile, drooping form, and gazed iuto the won- 
drous depths of her dreamy eyes, and listened to 
remarks almost beyond her years, which from 
time to time fell from her lips, ominously and sad- 
ly shook their heads, and said to themselves that 
one like her was not destined for a long stay on 



212 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE . 

earth. But, as if in despite of these oft repeated 
prognostications, she continued to live, and grow, 
and thrive— how, one could scarcely tell ; for, the 
fact that the circumstances of her parents were 
such as to require their whole time to be employed 
in providing food and raiment for their large and 
comparatively helpless family, left them little 
time to indulge in those fond endearments which 
make up so large a part of the happiness of child- 
hood. 

And so our little girl grew up, much after the 
fashion of other children similarly circumstanced. 
As soon as she was old enough she was sent to 
the district school, partly because it was custom- 
ary and partly to get her out of the way ; and, to 
tell the truth, the arrangement was in no way dis- 
tasteful to her ; for, while acquiring an education, 
she could also have abundant opportunities for 
indulging those dreamy speculations in which she 
delighted, and which, at home, not unfrequently 
subjected her to ridicule the most painful to her 
retiring, shrinking nature. 

But there was one sore grievance to which she 
was constantly subjected, and which no amount of 
pleading ever sufficed to remove. Within sight of 
her home was a church, where, on every Sunday 
afternoon, the children of Christian parents were 
wont to assemble for instruction in the elementary 
principles of theology. Many of her playmates 
were members of the school ; and when she heard 
them speak in glowing terms of the lessons of 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



213 



goodness and piety there inculcated, her heart 
yearned to close with their oft-repeated invitations 
to become one of their number. But to every ap- 
plication to her stern father to be permitted to 
do so, a peremptory refusal was the only reply. 
" He was not going," he said, " to have his chil- 
dren taught to lie. They would learn it soon 
enough without any help." And so she used to 
sit on the door-step and watch the smiling, happy 
faces thronging thitherward, until her little heart 
swelled almost to bursting, and she thought she 
must go, even at the risk of incurring the dis- 
pleasure of her parents. Accordingly, one after- 
noon, when sitting as usual upon the doorstep, 
while the pupils gathered to their Lord's day 
tasks, she, obedient to a sudden impulse, rose 
hastily from her seat and rushed to the little gate 
opening into the street. There she paused for a 
moment, cast around a hurried glance to see if any 
one observed her, lifted the latch, and, in a mo- 
ment, was speeding, bareheaded and barefooted, 
down the street which led to the church. 

But she had been seen. Her father was sitting 
near the window, and as she flew down the street 
her figure caught his eye. With an exclamation 
of impatient anger, at her direct and palpable 
disobedience, he seized his hat and started after 
her, only pausing to break a switch from an 
apple-tree by the wayside as he hastened on. 
Scarcely had she taken her seat in the class to 
which she had been directed when her father en- 



214 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

tered, his face flushed with anger, and grasping 
his whip in a manner which boded her no good. 

"What are you doing here?" he demanded 
wrathfully. 

The girl was terrified almost beyond her power 
to speak. At last she stammered : 

" I — I — I — wanted to come to — to — to Sunday- 
school." 

" And so you ran away in direct defiance of my 
orders," he continued, more angrily than before. 
u You can now start for home, and when we get 
there we will settle this matter. Start, I say," 
he continued, shaking the whip menacingly. 

The officials of the school strove in vain to rea- 
son with the infuriated man or to plead for the 
little girl's pardon. He neither listened to them 
nor vouchsafed a word of reply ; but, seizing her 
roughly by the hand, half led, half dragged her 
from the house. It is needless to say that, in the 
temper he was then in, the apple-tree sprout was 
used with a vigor which effectually dissuaded her 
from disobeying in this direction again. 

This constant persecution was not without its 
effect, and when our heroine had reached the age 
of thirteen the spirit of devotion and gravity 
which had been her chiefest charm, was entirely 
driven out of her, or, at least, subdued for the time 
being, and she became as gay, thoughtless and 
dashing as her elder sister had been. The feeble- 
ness which had marked her earlier years, too, 
had disappeared, and her form had rapidly de- 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



215 



veloped toward womanhood, and for the next two 
years she was quite a belle in the circle of youth- 
ful acquaintances by whom she was surrounded. 

In the somewhat limited society of Ada, girls 
were at this time considered young ladies upon 
attaining the age of thirteen or fourteen years, 
and were, therefore, as it were, forced into a sort 
of hot-house life of gayety very unfavorable to 
the development of all the qualities and character- 
istics of true womanhood. Mary was no exception 
to this law of society there, and many and many a 
night, when she should have been conning over 
lessons to be recited the next day in school, she 
was engaged till midnight, or after, in the giddy 
whirl of some rustic dance, or other country-vil- 
lage-merrymaking, until the primitive freshness 
and tenderness of her nature was entirely ob- 
scured, and she became what might be termed a 
somewhat fast young lady of the world. But the 
spirit was not entirely crushed out of existence — 
it was only hidden, and, as we shall soon see, was 
destined at no distant day to reassert its dominion 
over her mind. 

When Mary was about fifteen, she went on a 
visit of some weeks to an aunt of hers living in 
the southern part of the State. She had been 
named for this aunt, and was a great favorite of 
hers. This lady was a zealous, devoted Christian, 
and familiar as she had been with the whole 
course of Mary's life, she had mourned not a little 
on account of the spirit of worldliness which had 



216 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

been developed in her namesake by what she re- 
garded as the injudicious, not to say wicked, 
course of her parents, and many were the plans 
she had conned over to turn her feet once more 
into what she deemed the true and living way. 

In the midst of her perplexities on this subject, 
the church of which she was a member instituted 
a protracted meeting in her neighborhood. At 
once her difficulties were solved, for she felt confi- 
dent that if " her girl," as she was wont to call 
her, was once brought within the circle of the in- 
fluence of this meeting, the old love would be re- 
vived in her heart in all its force. Accordingly, 
she dispatched an earnest and pressing invitation 
to Mary to spend a few weeks with her, taking 
care, however, to say nothing of the object she 
had in view, lest it should be defeated by the op- 
position of the girl's parents. The invitation was. 
promptly accepted, and on the very day on which 
the meeting commenced, Mary arrived at the resi- 
dence of her aunt. 

Aunt Mary's pious fraud, if such it may be 
called, succeeded in a manner to equal her most 
sanguine expectations and desires. As she had 
suspected, the spirit of devotion in her breast was 
not extinguished, it was only covered over with a 
crust of worldliness, which soon gave way beneath 
the powerful preaching and earnest exhortations 
of the clergy who were in attendance at this meet- 
ing ; and long before the time fixed for her return 
home, Mary came, with joy and thankfulness, 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



21T 



beaming from every lineament of her countenance^ 
to give her heart freely and unreservedly to Him 
who is alone " able and willing to save to the ut- 
termost all who come unto God by Him." Hence- 
forth she was a new creature. The pomps and 
pleasures, the gayety and merriment which had 
heretofore alforded her so much enjoyment, no 
longer possessed any charms for her. She saw 
how stale and unprofitable her life had been, and 
she was resolved, henceforth, so far as in her lay, 
to so live as to merit the approval and commenda- 
tion of Him who was to be her Lord and Master. 

It was not long after her return home until her 
family observed the change in her, and but a short 
time was necessary to put them in possession of 
its cause, for she felt no disposition to conceal it ; 
and from this time there was scarcely any sort of 
persecution short of actual violence to which she 
was not subjected. From all quarters- — from 
father, brothers and sister — an incessant storm of 
ridicule was hurled at her, and everything was 
done that could be to induce her to abandon the 
path she had chosen. To the credit of her mother 
be it said, she never took any part in these un- 
kindly manifestations, but rather, by her sympa- 
thy, encouraged her to persevere in the course she 
had adopted. Mary Reynolds has often spoken 
to me of this as among the most trying times of 
her life, and has repeatedly assured me, that but 
for the countenance of her mother, and the sus- 
taining grace of Him who has promised to give 



218 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE . 

us strength sufficient for our day and trial, she 
must inevitably have succumbed to the pressure 
which bore so fearfully upon her. But, amid all 
her trials, she never once faltered or looked back. 
With true Christian fortitude she endured her 
burdens, and went bravely forward in the path to 
which He had called her. 

About this time she met a young man by the 
name of Gibson. The meeting was merely casual, 
and no sooner was it ended than she dismissed it 
from her mind, never once suspecting, what after- 
wards proved to be the fact, that it was destined 
to exercise a most painful effect upon her future 
life and happiness. Not so with Gribson. Her 
youth and the purity of her complexion had at- 
tracted him, and he was determined to make her 
his, and bear her away to that land of misery, and 
darkness, and infamy, to which have been driven 
the members of a sect, the mere mention of whose 
name is sufficient to awaken feelings of loathing, 
and disgust, and abhorrence, in the breast of every 
right-minded man and woman — the followers of 
the pretended prophet and hideous impostor, Joe 
Smith. For be it known, dear reader, that this 
man was neither more nor less than one of the dig- 
nitaries — a lesser one, it is true — of that loathed 
and despised fraternity - 

To accomplish his base purpose, it was of 
course necessary to operate with great caution, 
for he well understood that, if she had the faint- 
est suspicion of his character it would be a death- 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



219 



Mow to the plans he had formed. And he set 
about his plans with a cool, calculating delibera- 
tion worthy of a better cause. 

Having ascertained, by cautious inquiry, her 
situation and surroundings, he introduced himself 
to her as a minister of the gospel, informed her 
that he was only waiting in that neighborhood to 
make some necessary preparations before setting 
out on a mission to the Indians of the West, to 
which he had been assigned, and that, having 
heard of the unpleasant circumstances surround- 
ing her, he had deemed it his duty to call and 
offer her what consolation it was in his power to 
bestow. To say that she was thankful for his 
consideration and kindness, would but feebly ex- 
press the gratitude which thrilled in her breast at 
this manifestation of brotherly interest. Without 
hesitation or distrust she accepted the proffered 
kindness, and thus was begun an intimacy which 
was fraught with nothing but pain for her. 

From this beginning, Gibson soon came to spend 
a large portion of his time in her society, while, 
on her part, she very shortly learned to watch for 
his coming with an eager anxiety which scarcely 
brooked delay. And yet they by no means recog- 
nized each others as lovers. On his part, he was 
far too cunning as yet to startle her with any 
allusion to that subject, while she was all uncon- 
scious of any such emotions in her own soul. 
The religion of. Jesus Christ was their never-failing 
theme of conversation, and poor Mary really be- 



220 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



lieved that it was love for this theme alone which 
caused her to look so anxiously for each returning 
visit from the young minister. 

Weeks passed, and still the young missionary 
lingered in the vicinity, and still the intimacy be- 
tween them continued. Never were preparations 
for any journey so tardily made, and never was 
impatient traveler more reconciled to delay than 
was this young clergyman. But at last delay 
would no longer avail anything, and he informed 
her that he had fixed the day for his departure. 
He watched her narrowly as he communicated 
this information, and with ill-concealed joy ob- 
served that she received it with no little emotion. 

" What will become of me when you are gone ? " 
she cried ; " I shall be again alone, with no one 
to help me bear my cross." 

" Say not so ! " he replied, with affected sanc- 
tity ; " the Lamb has promised to be to his chil- 
dren a present help in every time of need, and he 
will strengthen and sustain you if you but ask 
his aid and guidance." 

" But I have so longed for human sympathy,' 9 
she replied, almost weeping, " and never found it 
until you came; and now, just when it is most 
valuable to me, I must lose it forever." 

" Be assured, my dear Mary — sister, I mean," 
he added, hastily, for he observed that she started 
and colored with emotion at being for the first 
time addressed in this familiar manner; "it is 
very painful to me to leave you at this time ; but 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



221 



if I do not go now, I very much fear I cannot go 
at all." 

" What do you mean ? " said she, doubtingly, 
for his words seemed dimly to convey some hidden 
meaning. 

Gibson saw that her modesty and timidity had 
taken the alarm, and he feared he had been too 
hasty. He therefore replied, in a tone and with 
an air of innocence : 

u Why, simply, that those in authority over me 
are somewhat impatient at the delay which has 
already taken place, and unless I proceed at once 
to my work, my appointment may be revoked, 
and another sent in my stead." 

This ready falsehood had the effect he intended, 
and they soon after parted, promising to see each 
other once more before he should commence his 
journey to the far West. 

When Mary was alone, she attempted the some- 
what difficult task of analyzing her feelings to- 
ward the young minister. The familiar manner 
in which he had, for the first time, addressed her, 
and which he had attempted, apparently, to ex- 
plain away, r had awakened a new train of thoughts 
in her breast, and she timidly, as if ashamed, 
asked herself if it was possible that she loved 
this man for himself alone, and not for the spirit- 
ual consolation he had been instrumental in im- 
parting to her. And as she acknowledged to her- 
self that this was really the case, and that she 
loved him earnestly, deeply, wildly, she wept 



222 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

tears of shame and remorse at having given her 
love unsought ; for not a word that he had ever 
uttered could she torture into an intimation of 
love on his part. 

As she sat thus alone in her room, in remorseful 
contrition, she was attracted by a gentle tap at 
her window, and, on turning, beheld an urchin who 
was well known as a sort of neighborhood errand 
boy. When he discovered that he had attracted 
her attention, he held up what seemed to be a 
note, and beckoned her to the window. Of course, 
she lost no time in obeying the mute summons, 
and, upon opening the note, found it was from 
Gibson. 

It contained a most ardent and unqualified 
avowal of love ; assured her that if she would 
return his affection, and share his lot, he was 
ready to abandon his contemplated journey to 
the West, and begged her to meet him that even- 
ing, with her answer, at a place familiar to them 
both, where they had often held sweet converse 
together. He closed by assuring her that her 
answer would decide his fate forever. 

For some time after finishing the perusal of 
the missive, Mary sat in a state of almost be- 
wildering confusion. The declaration was so un- 
expected that she could hardly comprehend that 
it was an absolute reality, and was, for a time, 
utterly unable to decide upon anything. Her 
heart strongly urged her to give him the answer 
he desired ; and yet the brevity of their acquain- 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



223 



tance, and her almost entire want of knowledge 
of his character, warned her to pause. True, he 
professed to be a minister of the gospel ; but, 
then, what assurance had she that he was really 
what he pretended? She had never heard him 
preach ; but, then, on the other hand, she said 
to lierself that he could not converse as he did 
upon religious topics unless he had some experi- 
mental knowledge of the subject. She had not 
yet learned the important truth, that hypocrisy 
may be made to appear to a better advantage 
than the highest degree of truthfulness. 

But the struggle ended at last, as similar con- 
flicts usually do. At the appointed time she 
met her lover at the designated place, and there, 
with every indication of affectionate and truthful 
fervor, they exchanged vows of everlasting fealty 
— vows which, upon her part, were felt and real- 
ized in all their force, but which, with him, were 
mere words uttered for the purpose of accomplish- 
ing a base and unholy object. 

The match, as might have been expected, met 
with the most violent opposition from Mary's par- 
ents ; but at last, notwithstanding they steadily 
refused their consent, it was consummated, and 
the young couple went to housekeeping some 
miles from her former home, her husband having, 
in deference to the earnest wishes of his young 
wife, consented to forego, for a time at least, his 
contemplated journey to the West. And then, 
all too soon, poor Mary found that she had been 



224: CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE . 

most bitterly and cruelly deceived. Although as 
yet she did not know or even suspect the full ex- 
tent of the calamity which had fallen upon her in 
wedding with the man she had, she soon found 
that his pretended love was but a hollow show 
and hideous mockery. Instead of the devoted 
minister of Christ which she had supposed him 
to be, he was really a scoffer at the religion she 
loved, and which had been her solace and comfort 
under so many trials, and which, otherwise, must 
have overwhelmed her. She had supposed him to 
be possessed of every characteristic of a true and 
noble man — she found him to be a selfish, soulless 
sensualist, in the fullest sense of the term, caring 
for nobody's pleasure, convenience or comfort, 
save his own, and even heedless of the demands 
of common humanity at his hands. 

But she felt that she had brought this evil fate 
upon herself, and bravely she took up the Cross 
and went forward in what seemed to her the plain 
path of duty, earnestly striving to discharge 
every obligation which her position as wife im- 
posed upon her, and humbly invoking aid and 
support from Him who had promised to strength- 
en her under every trial. 

But the most painful privation to which she 
was subjected by the tyranny of her husband, 
was her utter inability to attend to the service of 
her Savior. For a time he grumblingly consented 
to let her go to church whenever she wished, but 
at last even this was denied her. Not content 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



225 



with refusing to accompany her, he at last for- 
bade her to go even without him, and the last 
ray of happiness seemed shut out from her 
horizon. 

In the midst of her trials, however, there came 
a tiny ray of sunshine, which, for a time, she 
fondly hoped would grow and expand into the 
vivid effulgence of the meridian sun. She had 
been married barely a year when a sweet, blue- 
eyed little girl came to cheer and gladden her 
heart with her little world of love, and her win- 
some ways ; and, for a time, it seemed as if the 
little stranger was to renew the bonds of unity 
between herself and her husband, and to restore 
in full fervor his fast- waning love. But he was 
too much wedded to his selfish idols even to be 
moved by such an appeal as this. Ere the little 
Clemmie had attained the age of three months, 
he had relapsed from his partial awaking to love 
and duty into an atmosphere of positive coldness, 
if not almost hate, toward both mother and 
child. 

Poor Mary felt as if almost forsaken by her 
Lord, and in the extremity of her agony was 
almost tempted to cry out, with one of old, " My 
punishment is greater than I can bear." 

Bnt a blow, heavier than she had yet experi- 
enced, was awaiting her. 

One day a gentleman whom she had never be- 
fore met called at their house. There was some- 
thing in his appearance and manners which she 

15 



226 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



did not like, and which caused her to fear some 
impending calamity, and yet, had she been ask- 
ed what it was she feared, she would have found 
it impossible to tell. 

The stranger and her husband soon became 
engaged in earnest conversation upon some sub- 
ject evidently not intended for her hearing, and 
when they became animated they left the house 
and went into the fields. Walking away to some 
distance, they seated themseles side by side on 
the trunk of a fallen tree, where they remained 
in earnest discussion for an hour or more, when 
the stranger went away and her husband return- 
ed alone to the house. 

She saw from his appearance that something 
unusual was weighing upon his mind, but she 
forebore to ask any questions, deeming it better 
to allow him to broach the subject himself. Her 
past experience had been such as to render her 
cautious of asking him for any explanation of 
his conduct, but as time passed and he said 
nothing, her suspense became intolerable, and 
she said : 

" Husband, will you not tell me the cause of 
your sadness? " 

" I am not sad," he replied , with more than 
usual kindness in his tone ; u I am only con- 
sidering of the future." 

" What is there in the future that should so 
engross your attention ? " she asked in some sur- 
prise. 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



227 



" Mary," he replied, " I think we shall have to 
leave here." 
" Why so ? " 

" I cannot explain now," he said ; " but in good 
time you will know all." 
" But where will we go ? " 

" That I have not fully decided. It was of that 
I was considering." 

His unwonted kindness touched poor Mary's 
heart, and aroused all the tenderness of her 
nature, for, despite his ill-treatment of her, her 
heart still throbbed with earnest love and devo- 
tion towards him. Rising, she threw her arms 
around his neck, and exclaimed : 

" Where thou goest, I will go." 

He made no answer, and, after a few moment's 
silence, she continued : 

" Who was the strange gentleman who called 
upon you to-day ? " 

" I believe he is a minister of the denomination 
termed ' New Lights,' he replied, with some indi- 
cation of vexation in his tone and manner. " He 
is laboring to get up a revival over in the North 
settlement, I believe, and seems to be doing some 
good." 

His manner forewarned her to ask no more 
questions, and the subject was dropped. 

But a few days passed until the stranger re- 
turned. Mary was alone when he came, and to 
his inquiry for Gibson, she informed him that he 
would soon be in, wherefore the stranger took a 



228 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

seat, saying he would wait for him. There was 
something in the evident mystery attending the 
acquaintance of this man with her husband which 
gave her a good deal of uneasiness — a feeling all 
the more painful because of her inability to com- 
prehend the riddle. If, as Gibson had pretended 
to her, they were such comparative strangers, 
why should he come to seek specially an inter- 
view with her husband? And besides, why 
should Gibson greet him, as he did at coming in, 
with all the warmth and fervor of an old and 
intimate friend? These reflections excited her 
most anxious fears, for she had already gained 
an inkling of the fact that her husband was con- 
templating a journey to the promised land of the 
latter-day saints — the great city of the Salt Lake 
— and the fear of such an event filled her with 
the most gloomy forebodings. 

On this occasion, the stranger, at the instance 
of her husband, stayed till after dinner, and dur- 
ing the meal remarks were made by him which, 
to her jealous fears, already keenly aroused, were 
" confirmation strong as proof of Holy Writ," of 
his intention to join the people of his faith, even 
if it became necessary to abandon his wife and 
child in order to do so. But what could she do ? 
The slight influence over him which she possessed 
was powerless to avert the fearful storm which 
she saw gathering over her head, and, after giving 
utterance to some violent expletives wrung from 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



229 



her almost bursting heart, she tied from the room 
in tears. 

Six months have passed since the ill-starred 
day upon which the stranger took dinner with 
Gibson and his wife — wretched, weary months to 
her. She is back once more at the home of her 
childhood, but a mere skeleton of her former self. 
She has never seen her husband since that fatal 
day. In company with the stranger, he had 
started for Salt Lake, having first converted all 
his property into ready money, and leaving her 
and her child destitute. Oh ! what monsters will 
not perverted principles make of men, who, but 
for one thing, were fitted to adorn any position 
in life. 

To the poor girl, thus betrayed and forsaken, 
the shock had been most terrible. Half-crazed, 
and bowed down with grief, shame, and hideous 
despair, she had found her way home — how, she 
hardly knew — and there, prostrate upon her bed, 
for weeks she lay raving with the delirium of 
brain fever. For two months, during which time 
she scarcely had possession of her senses, her life 
was despaired of ; but at last, the most unremit- 
ting care and nursing, aided by the best medical 
skill that money could command, succeeded in 
snatching her back, as it were, from the very 
brink of the tomb, and restoring her to life once 
more. 

But, ah ! the fearful wreck which those weeks 



230 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



and months of suffering and woe had made of 
her! She seemed almost oblivious to what was 
going on around her, and would sit in dreamy, 
listless indolence, gazing into vacancy for hours 
at a time ; then her feelings would give way, and 
tears would pour in torrents down her cheeks, 
while convulsive sobs rent her frame, and seemed 
almost to threaten her dissolution. Her little 
girl was her only source of comfort, and for her 
sake she at last conquered her almost repugnance 
to life, and, bravely bearing her burdens, she 
strove once more to discharge her duty as a 
mother to the helpless little creature who was now 
her all in life. 

For a year her feeble health prevented her from 
making any exertions toward earning a livelihood, 
and the most of that time was spent in reading 
and study. Fortunately, it was not necessary 
that she should do anything — her father was able 
and willing to support her and her child — but she 
felt the necessity of something to engross her at- 
tention and divert her mind from the contempla- 
tion of her misery, and, as soon as her health 
permitted her doing so, she set about learning 
the trade of a milliner. 

It was more than a year from the time of her 
husband's desertion until she heard anything of 
him ; then came an account in a newspaper of the 
arrest, at some point in Illinois, of the man in 
whose society her husband had gone away, upon 
the charge of bigamy — it being charged that he 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



231 



liad no less than four living wives. The name 
of her husband was mentioned in connection 
with the affair, and it was stated that he was 
heartily sick of the infamous system by which he 
had been seduced into breaking up all his family 
ties, and was about to abandon his associates 
forever, and return to the walks of virtue and con- 
sequent peace and happiness. 

This announcement filled her with no little con- 
sternation, for, notwithstanding his shameful de- 
sertion of her, and his scandalous mode of life 
since, she still loved him with a love which was 
proof against all the wrongs he had done her. 

Oh ! there is nothing, save the love of the Savior 
for fallen humanity, which equals the love of a 
pure, true hearted woman. Let her affections 
once be bestowed in all their purity, and fresh- 
ness, and strength, upon what she believes to be 
a worthy object, and scarcely any amount of neg- 
lect, cruelty, or ill-treatment can alienate that 
love. It may be buried, stilled or blunted by 
coldness and abuse, but the fire upon the altar is 
not extinguished — it is only temporarily strewn 
with ashes which the least breath of tenderness 
will blow away, and renew, in all their glowing 
warmth, and life, and beauty, the smouldering 
embers. 

Such was the love of Mary Gibson for her recre- 
ant husband, and yet her judgment warned her 
not to trust him again. She had followed the 
voice of inclination once in opposition to judg- 



232 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

merit and duty, and she could only contemplate 
the results with shuddering horror ; and she knew 
that if he came to her again, the same struggle 
would be renewed, and, she feared, with but the 
same results. And this it was which led her to 
regard with such dread another meeting with 
him. 

It had now been considerably over a year since 
his desertion of her, and, in obedience to the wish- 
es of her friends and the demands of what she 
considered duty to herself and her child, to vindi- 
cate her own good name, she had instituted pro- 
ceedings for a divorce from him, and the time of 
trial was now at hand : and this was the reason 
why she dreaded meeting him. She feared that, 
in the event of an interview, her firmness would 
not be sufficient to withstand the pleadings for 
a withdrawal of that suit in which she felt sure 
he would indulge. But, fortunately, she was 
not put to the test. 

She had gone out from her father's house to 
sew for her living, for, with returning health 
and strength had come a strong desire to be in- 
dependent. Before leaving home, however, she 
made a solemn promise never to see her hus- 
band, save in the presence, and with the con- 
sent, of her father. 

She had been absent from home but a short 
time, when, one night, about midnight, a rap was 
heard at the door of the house where she was- 
staying. 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



233 



"Who is there?" demanded the man of the 
house. 

" A friend," was the answer. 

" Who are you, and what do you want ? " 

"My name is Gibson, and I want to see my 
wife," said he, in a voice full of emotion ; " I was 
told she lived here." 

" So she does ; but why do you come at this 
time of night ? " 

"I intended to arrive here before nightfall, but 
my horse fell through a bridge and inj ured both 
himself and me severely, and so delayed our jour- 
ney," was the reply. " Even now I am suffering 
terrible pain. For heaven's sake, let me in." 

This appeal could not be resisted, and he was 
speedily admitted to the house ; but, true to her 
promise, Mary refused to see him unless her father 
were brought. When this determination of hers 
was announced, Gibson, at once forgetting his 
bruises and pain, set off amid the darkness for the 
house of her father. He returned with him early 
the next morning, and then, for one short half 
hour, was permitted to see the wife he had so 
shamefully wronged and deserted. 

It were useless to speak of the nature of this 
interview. Suffice it to say that it was inexpressi- 
bly painful to both; — on his part was real or 
admirably-simulated repentance for his past sins 
against her ; while hers was the old and bitter 
struggle between inclination and duty. But, 
strengthened and supported by the presence of 



234 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE . 



her father, she steadily refused to consent to any 
overlooking of the past. At the end of the time 
fixed by her father, Gibson took leave of his wife 
and child who, but for his own baseness, might 
have rendered his life one long season of light and 
happiness — and from that day to this they have 
never met. 

But the meeting came near prostrating her 
again, so great was the shock to her system, al- 
ready rendered fearfully nervous by the trials she 
had endured ; and for the best part of another 
year she was almost an invalid in the house of 
her parents, whither she had returned. 

For some years she remained at home, during 
which nothing worthy of special mention in this 
sketch occurred. The law had given her freedom 
from the unworthy mate to whom she was yoked, 
and she had since lived a life of comparative 
calm. 

* * # * '* * * 

Almost five years have elapsed since our heroine 
was separated, by legal sentence, from her un- 
worthy husband, and she was again about to take 
upon herself the marriage vow. But this time it 
was more in compliance with the wishes of her 
parents than in accordance with her own inclina- 
tion. She would much rather have remained sin- 
gle, earning a livelihood for herself and her child 
by the exercise of the trade she had acquired — 
that of a milliner ; but when a farmer of respect- 
able standing and character — whose wife had gone 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



2155 



to the grave some years before, leaving him the 
care of two boys aged, at this time, about ten and 
thirteen years — presented himself as a candidate 
for her hand, her parents had urged her to accept 
his offer. And with undue sensitiveness, devel- 
oped by the sorrows of her past life, she had re- 
garded their urgings as an indication of their de- 
sire to be rid of the burden of her support (when 
nothing was really further from their thoughts), 
and had accepted his offer. 

But she soon found that in so doing she had 
committed a mistake only exceeded by her union 
with Gibson. I do not suppose that her husband 
intended to be unkind or abusive to her— more 
than this, there is no doubt that he loved her, in 
Ms way ; but he neither appreciated nor under- 
stood either her physical or mental constitution, 
and, as a consequence, he expected more of her 
than she was able to perform. His first wife had 
been a hale, strong woman, kind enough, it is true, 
but with rugged feelings, immovable nerves, and 
entirely devoid of those refined sensibilities which 
made up so large a part of Mary's character. 

This woman was, in his estimation, the model 
of her sex, and he seemed utterly incapable of 
comprehending the finer organization of Mary's 
character, and the natural and necessary result 
was a vast amount of misery to her. A mere 
trifle, which would have afforded only food for 
merriment, or furnished the ground for a sharp 
retort, to his first wife, was, to poor Mary's sensi- 



236 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

tive and refined nature, the occasion of a flood of 
bitter tears, and these in turn produced remarks 
which she esteemed fresh grievances, — and so her 
life was rendered supremely miserable. 

Some of our unthinking readers may smile at 
this mention of her troubles ; but did it ever occur 
to them that nine-tenths of the troubles of hus- 
band and wife arise, either from a want of proper 
understanding of each other, or from some equally 
purely imaginary cause ? Take the case of a man, 
naturally jealous in his disposition, who is united 
to a woman of a warm, confiding, affectionate tem- 
perament ; one whose love absorbs, as it were, 
and overrides all other emotions of her soul, and 
which flows out freely and spontaneously toward 
all her friends. The jaundiced eye of the poor 
wretch sees acts which are but the natural demon- 
stration of the spirit exulting in the bosom of his 
wife, and which are as an angels' deeds, but which 
to him seem strongest evidence of infidelity. He 
reproves her sharply — just indignation at the un- 
founded accusation reddens her brow and fills her 
eyes with tears, and these are to him but addi- 
tional proofs of her guilt. She meets again the 
obnoxious individual — obnoxious only to her hus- 
band's gangrened spirit of jealousy — and to avoid 
her husband's censure, she treats him with cold 
formality, and this furnishes to her husband fresh 
proofs of criminality. Sue is evidently trying to 
act a part. Nor is this all. The individual thus 
treated, is astonished, and seeks an explanation. 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



237 



The jealous husband observes the aside conversa- 
tion, and this furnishes more proof of her aliena- 
tion from him. And thus it is that the happiness 
of both is forever destroyed, even if the family is 
not entirely broken up, solely for an imaginary 
cause, and because the husband and wife do not 
understand each other. Who has not seen fami- 
lies severed by as trilling causes as this ? 

This is but an illustraton of the manner in 
which mole-hills become mountains in married 
life — in which little ripples become surging bil- 
lows, dashing into fragments many a bark of hap- 
piness launched with high hope on the main. But 
do not, dear reader, understand me as condemning 
married life — far from it. It is a relation insti- 
tuted by the Almighty himself, for the sole pur- 
pose of promoting the happiness of His creatures, 
and, when carried out according to the Divine 
plan, can never fail of its end. But, alas ! for the 
fallibility, or perversity, of fallen humanity. 
That it is which too often converts the means of 
the highest degree of earthly happiness into a 
Iburdensome yoke and a source of untold misery. 

Thus it was with poor Mary in her new relation. 
Neither she nor her husband understood or appre- 
ciated the other, and the result was a succession 
of bickerings, jars and tears, which finally came 
to render both supremely miserable. Indeed it 
seemed to her at times that her burdens were 
heavier than she could endure, and that she must 
put an end to an association so painful to her, 



238 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

even at the loss of the fair name she had hitherto 
borne. 

And yet her husband was not intentionally un- 
kind or cruel to her, and his two boys were as- 
kind and obedient to her as they could have been 
to their own mother. And this seemed to her the 
only ray of light in her otherwise dark and cheer- 
less horizon. 

Under the circumstances, it is not surprising 
that, in writing to her parents, she should have 
given them distorted views of the life she was 
leading, and thus prepared the way for the sud- 
den breaking up of the relation which had become 
so painful to both. But in this, she, like her hus- 
band, was innocent of any intentional wrong. It 
was simply that neither understood the other, and 
hence neither exercised the spirit of trustful con- 
fidence, of forbearance and mutual forgiveness, so 
essential to the happiness of married life. 

They had been married but a few months — less 
than a year — when her parents came to pay them 
a visit. It so happened that, on the very day of 
their arrival, she and her husband had disagreed 
about some matter, perhaps of no great importance 
in itself, but which had led to feelings more than 
usually unpleasant on both sides ; and when they 
arrived they found him sullen and gloomy, and 
Mary in a flood of tears. 

Prejudiced against him as they had already 
been by her, unintentionally, perhaps, extravagant 
accounts of his cruelty and her wretchedness, this 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



239 



sight was calculated to arouse anything but pleas- 
ant feelings. At the earliest possible opportunity 
afforded by the temporary absence of the husband 
about some of his farm duties, her father set him- 
self to find out from her the cause of her unhap- 
piness. He began : 

" I observed, my daughter, that you had been 
crying when we came. What was the cause ?" 

" It was nothing," she replied, while her tears 
flowed afresh at the thoughts which the question 
suggested ; " at least, nothing unusual in this 
house. He has been scolding me because some- 
thing did not happen to exactly please him." 

" What was it ?" 

" Heaven only knows ; I am sure I don't," she 
replied, with evident bitterness of feeling. 

" Do you mean to tell me, not only that he had 
been scolding and abusing you without cause, but 
that he is in the habit of doing so frequently ?" 
demanded he, in tones of indignation. 

"Yes, father, it is so," she replied amid her 
sobs. " Not a day passes but that something of 
the kind takes place. I try my best to please 
him, and comply with his wishes in every partic- 
ular, but it is of no use. Nothing goes right ;" 
and here she broke down entirely. 

" You are, then, very unhappy ?" 

" Oh ! yes, I am indeed most miserable. I have 
not seen one happy hour since I left home." 

" Would you be willing to return home with 
us ?" he queried. 



240 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



" Yes ; I would do anything to escape from this 
wretched, miserable life." 

" Then you shall," he replied. 

And without stopping to consider, or to reflect 
that in all probability something could be said on 
the other side, he hastened out to the barn and as- 
sailed the husband with the fiercest invective, 
charging him with the most cruel, tyrannical and 
abusive treatment of his wife, and declaring his 
intention to remove her at once and forever be- 
yond the reach of his brutality. The result of 
this fierce assault was precisely what might have 
been anticipated — a furious quarrel between the 
two angry men, which was finally terminated by 
the husband ordering the father to leave his 
premises at once and forever. 

" And you have my free consent to take your 
daughter with you," he exclaimed, angrily ; " I 
have had enough of the breed, I assure you." 

And thus the family was broken up, simply be- 
cause the husband and wife would not, or did not, 
understand each other, and because her parents, 
who should have had better judgment, failed to 
recognize the necessity of mutual concessions to 
secure happiness in the married state. 
* * # * * * * 

Several years have passed since the separation 
of Mary and her husband. A part of the time 
she has lived with the parents who, in mistaken 
kindness, listened alone to her tale of sorrow, and 
then, instead of investigating and calmly trying 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



241 



to reconcile the differences between her and her 
husband, had taken the fearful responsibility of 
putting asunder those whom God had joined to- 
gether. 

But her life had been by no means happy. 
» With quiet, and the removal of the irritating 
causes which had led to so much unhappiness in 
her association with her husband, had come calm 
reflection upon her own conduct, and with it the 
opening of the eyes of her mind. She now saw 
what she had not before realized — that she was 
not entirely without blame ; that the fault of all 
their disagreements had not been alone with her 
husband, and that her own impatience and mental 
blindness had contributed in no small degree to 
the painful result. And now that they were 
finally separated; now that the evil, for which 
she felt that she was in a great measure responsi- 
ble, was without remedy, as it seemed (for her 
husband had left the neighborhood of their former 
residence and she had lost all trace of him), a feel- 
ing of remorse, which neither her own reasoning 
nor the kindness and attempted consolation of her 
friends could banish, took possession of her soul, 
at all times and under all circumstances, effect- 
ually expelling every pleasant and joyous emo- 
tion. 

Very rarely, indeed, is it the case that the life of 
any one, and especially of one so young as our he- 
roine, becomes so overclouded with sorrow as to 
exclude every ray of happiness. However dark 

16 



242 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

and cheerless the cloud, there are moments when 
the glorious sunlight of happiness, designed by 
heaven as the normal condition of the human soul, 
will break through the rift, warming and vivifying 
the mind, and irradiating the countenance with 
its life-giving rays. 

~Not so, however, with poor Mary. The very 
light seemed gone out within her; no break ap- 
peared in the cloud hanging over her, but all was 
one constant, unchanging scene of leaden dark- 
ness. Even her features seemed to have lost the 
capacity of wearing a smile, and wore constantly, 
as she moved among her friends, the same monot- 
onous expression of patient, resigned grief, which 
was but the index of the feeling unceasingly 
gnawing into her very soul. True, she loved her 
child, and in that love found her only comfort; 
but this was not sufficient to divest her mind, 
peculiarly constituted as it was, for a single 
moment from the contemplation of the sorrows of 
the past, rendered all the more poignant by the 
reflection, before alluded to, that she was herself, 
to a great extent, responsible for them. 

But events were about to transpire which, 
adding for the present to the weight of grief by 
which she was so fearfully bowed down, were to 
change entirely the current of her life, and, in the 
end, to rescue her from the gloomy sea of trouble 
which threatened to engulf her, and place her 
once more on the very pinnacle of human happi- 
ness. So often is it the case in the economy of 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



243 



heaven that, what seems to our finite vision but a 
painful affliction, is really but the means of bring- 
ing about a blessing. 

One of these terrible epidemics which, by the 
mysterious wisdom of the Almighty, are per- 
mitted, at stated periods, to sweep over the entire 
land, striking down all ranks and classes of so- 
ciety, as it were, in chastisement of their sins, 
was desolating the country, carrying off its vic- 
tims by the hundred daily, and filling all houses 
with the voice of lamentation and mourning. 
"With scarcely the warning of a moment, persons 
who seemed the embodiment of health were 
stricken down, and, in some instances, survived 
the attack but for a few hours. The larger cities, 
owing to their more crowded and filthy conditions, 
of course, furnished by far the greater proportion 
of victims to the fell destroyer ; and in the rural, 
quiet village where lived our heroine with her 
parents, but little apprehension of danger was 
felt. 

But at last it came, and one of its first victims 
was Mr. Reynolds. He was seized just after par- 
taking of the noon-day meal, and despite the ut- 
most that medical skill, aided by the care of do- 
mestic affection, could accomplish, in less than 
forty-eight hours he was a cold and inanimate 
corse. 

It were vain and useless to attempt to describe 
the agony of the bereaved family as their only 
stay and support — he upon whose strong arm they 



244 CHURCH AND SUNDAY-SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

had so long and confidently relied — was thus sud- 
denly taken away. The entire place seemed at 
once stricken with the palsying touch of the 
spirit of Desolation. Everything around them 
served but to recall fresh remembrances of him 
who had so lately been their master-spirit and to 
add sharpness to the grief caused by his de- 
parture. 

Under these circumstances they decided to 
abandon forever the place which so constantly re- 
minded them of their grievous loss ; and leaving 
the settlement of the business connected with the 
estate in the hands of a competent and honorable 
business-man, the widow removed, with Mary (the 
only one of her children remaining with her), to 
Indianapolis. Here they rented a small house 
and lived in the utmost seclusion and retirement, 
the old lady doing what sewing she could, while 
Mary worked at her trade, to earn their liveli- 
hood ; for an investigation of her father's affairs, 
after his death, disclosed the fact that he was very 
much embarrassed, and that, after paying off 
his debts, scarcely anything would be left for 
the widow and orphan. The sons had all scat- 
tered abroad long before the death or their father, 
and were all struggling with the world, with no 
capital but strong hands and willing hearts, for 
the support of their respective families, and hence 
no assistance could be expected from them. But 
Mary was a complete mistress of her trade, and 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



245 



with that and what plain sewing her mother could 
do, they managed to get along very well. 

Some years have passed since their removal to 
the capital city of Indiana, and nothing save busy 
memory had served to remind them of the past. 
Mary's countenance still wore the same pensive, 
quiet, grieved expression it had worn since her 
separation from her second husband, and with un- 
impaired fidelity had memory preserved the 
recollection of the circumstances which led to that 
separation; and with reflection had cornea fuller 
appreciation of her duties as a wife. Nay, more; 
remembering how she had, in a certain sense, 
wronged him, and doubtless wounded his feelings, 
and the love she was assured he really bore her, 
a feeling very much akin to love had grown up in 
her heart for him, and she often found herself 
wondering if the ever-revolving wheel of time 
would bring them into contact again ; and faith- 
fully she resolved that if such should ever be the 
case, she would strive more earnestly to discharge 
the duties in which she felt she had been so lam- 
entably though innocently deficient. 

One evening Mary and her mother were sitting 
alone in their little cottage. The evening meal 
had been disposed of, Mary's little girl was sleep- 
ing in her cot, and they were silently sewing, when 
they were startled by a loud rap at the door. 
What could it mean ? For a moment surprise — 
not to say terror — kept them silent, then the rap 
was repeated with more vigor than before, and 



246 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

Mary arose and went to the door. As she opened 
it a man stepped quickly from the darkness with- 
out into the full glare of light from the lamp that 
stood upon the table. A moment she stood and 
gazed wonderingly at him; then, with a cry of 
surprised thankfulness, she sprang forward to be 
enfolded in the arms which were thrown open to 
receive her. 

Of what transpired during the first few moments 
of that meeting of the husband and wife, so long 
separated, it is not necessary to speak, nor, in- 
deed do I suppose either of them have, or had at 
the time, any very correct idea. But when the ex- 
citementof the unexpected meeting had somewhat 
subsided, seated side by side they mutually ex- 
plained and confessed the faults of the past. In 
the long season of separation each had realized 
what they never did before — that forbearance and 
mutual kindness were indispensably necessary to 
any degree of happiness in married life ; and 
each realized the fact that the absence of the 
other created a great void which none else could 
fill. As true Christians they had a talk together. 

"Husband," said Mary, "I am a Christian, and 
if you will join the church and live a true Chris- 
tian, I will forgive you." 

" Dear wife, I am a Christian ; I have got my 
church letter with me ; read it ;" and he handed it 
to her. "I did wrong; will you forgive me?" 

And with thoughts, feelings and motives thus 
attuned to harmony and future peace, they re- 



MARY REYNOLDS. 



247 



solved once more to resume the relation to each 
other so long and rudely sundered, and, by the 
favor of Almighty God, to so live and act toward 
each other as to redeem and atone for the past. 

And with rare fidelity has that resolution been 
kept. Years have passed since the reconciliation, 
and never, for one single moment, has either re- 
gretted it. Not an unpleasant word, or look, or 
thought, has ever occurred to mar the long season 
of peace which has marked their reunion. They 
reside in Sandusky city, Ohio, and are known far 
and wide as examples of matrimonial felicity and 
devotion. 

Two events have transpired since their recon- 
ciliation which, for a time, filled their hearts with 
sadness, but which their strong and sublime faith 
in their Redeemer has enabled them to bear with 
Christian fortitude and resignation, for both are 
now, and for years have been, consistent followers 
of the Divine Savior of mankind. 

The events alluded to were the death of Mary's 
mother and of the little Clemmie, which occurred 
within a very few weeks of each other. After the 
reunion of the long-separated husband and wife, 
Mrs. Reynolds went to live with them, but was 
permitted to witness their happiness but for a 
very brief period. The hand of disease was laid 
upon her in the home of her children, and after a 
brief but painful illness she fell asleep, her 
passage over the Dark River being smoothed by 



248 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



her simple confidence in Him whose follower she 
had for several years been. 

Scarcely had they recovered from the shock 
occasioned by her decease, when they were sub- 
jected to a still severer one in the death, by vio- 
lence, of the little Clemmie. Precisely how it oc- 
curred no one ever knew. All that could be 
learned was from the statement of her playmates, 
that she had fallen from the fence, and from the 
examination of a physician, who found that her 
neck was dislocated. Whether the fall was purely 
accidental, or whether she was thrown down in an 
altercation with some of her playmates, or what 
were the causes that led to the fearful calamity, 
must forever remain a profound mystery. But 
one thing is absolutely certain — that she peace- 
fully sleeps beside her grandmother, in a lovely 
and secluded spot in the cemetery at Sandusky 
city — the shrine of many an affectionate pilgrim- 
age. 

And here, dear reader, we take our leave of our 
heroine. Her life has been a stormy and troublous 
one, but she has at last triumphed over all, and 
her tempest-tossed bark is safely moored in the 
haven of domestic peace and happiness. May 
the Father of all continue to bestow upon her and 
hers the fullest meed of earthly blessings. 

Let earthly joys and cares depart — 

Let pain and sorrow cease ; 
Be Thou the portion of our heart, 

In Thee may we have peace . 



XL 



THE RESULT OF CHURCH MEMBERS' 
INFLUENCE. 

CHAPTER I. 

" Where are you going, Willie Brown ?" 
"I am going to church. Come go with me* 
Harry." 

" Oh ! no. I am going to a card-party," said 
Harry Jennings. 

Willie Brown took his friend by the hand and 
spoke to him kindly. He said: " Harry, you never 
go to church, and you go to card-parties and balls, 
but you never go to church or Sunday-school. 
Now, come, go with me to Sunday-school to-day, 
and stay with me and hear Brother Dungan preach 
a sermon." 

" Well," said Harry, " I will go with you, Wil- 
lie." 

The subject of the lesson was, " Jesus on the 
Cross." Golden Text : " While we were yet sin- 
ners, Christ died for us." (Romans, chapter 5, 
verse 8). This was a subject that struck Harry 
very forcibly and made him think as he never had 
before. 

After Sunday-school was over, the two young 

(249) 



250 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 



men stood and talked until time for preaching. 
Willie introduced Harry Jennings to Brother Dun- 
gan. The sermon was " On Our Love to Each 
Other," and the teachings of Christ to lift up the 
fallen and strengthen the weak. (Romans, Chap. 
13, verse 10) : " Love worketh no ill to his neigh- 
bor." After the service was over the two young 
men walked about ten blocks together. 

" It was a very fine sermon," said Willie Brown. 

"Yes," said Harry Jennings ; " he hit me and I 
am glad I came to hear him. Willie, you said 
you had prayed for me that God would bring me 
to see that I was a sinner. Willie, I believe you 
are an instrument in the hand of God to bring me 
to Christ. You got me to go to Sunday-school, 
and to hear the gospel preached. I am eighteen 
years old, and I have not been to church or to Sun- 
day-school for over five years. Mother goes to 
church, but I would never go with her. I was always 
with bad boys, and in balls or card-parties, but 
you got me with you to-day and mother came up 
and kissed me, and said she was so glad I was 
with you to Sunday-school and church, and oh! so 
many came up to me and took me by the hand, 
and said they were so glad to see me to Sunday- 
school once more, and to church, and the preacher 
hit so hard on card-playing and dancing and 
drinking and smoking and bad company that I 
know he means me." 

" I am glad, Harry, that you think so ; now we 



CHURCH MEMBERS' INFLUENCE. 251 



are at my home, come in and take dinner with me, 
and we will talk this matter over." 

" All right, Willie, I am glad yon will be my 
company in the future. I want your prayers an- 
swered. I do believe you are a true Christian, 
Willie, and I want to be a Christian too." 

"Harry, I am so glad you want to be a Chris- 
tian. Oh, how happy your dear mother will be 
when you do become a Christian, and join the 
church. You go to church with me to-morrow 
night and make the confession of faith in the Lord 
Jesus and join the church." 

" I will go with you, Willie, to church, and I 
will promise you I will never go to a card-party 
again or to a dance. You pray for me, Willie, 
and I will pray God to answer your prayer," said 
Harry. 

" I will pray for you all the . time, Harry, and 
you read your Bible and do as it teaches. You 
read Acts, chapter 2, and Acts, chapter 8, verse 
22 to the close. You will find, if you will read 
your Bible and study it, and think this matter 
over, you will know what your duty is." 

" All right, Willie, I will read it and we will go 
to church and hear brother Dungan to-night," said 
Harry. 

" Here is my Bible." 

He read it half an hour, then he was called to 
dinner. After dinner was over he went home and 
promised to read his mother's Bible until church 
time, then he would go to church. 



252 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

" I will come over here and go with you, Willie. 
I will be here at half-past live. I will go with you 
to the Christian Endeavor." . 

" That is right, Harry. I am so glad you are 
going to the Christian Endeavor. Good-bye, be 
on time!" 

" I will. Good-bye." And they parted. 

When Harry got home, his mother said, " My 
son, I am so glad you went to church and Sunday- 
school." 

"Mother, I am going to go every Sunday to Sun- 
day-school and church and Christian Endeavor. 
Willie Brown is my chum in the future. I will go 
where he goes." 

" All right, my son, he will be good company 
for you." 

" Mother, I want to read your Bible until five 
o'clock. You watch the clock and tell me when 
it is five. I promised Willie Brown to be at his 
house at half-past five to go to the Endeavor meet- 
ing with him." 

" Here is the Bible ; read it carefully," said his 
mother, and she left the room and went into her 
bedroom and prayed for God to open her son's 
eyes that he might see his duty and obey the 
teachings of Christ, and accept him as his salva- 
tion. 

We will now go with our young friends to the 
Endeavor. Oh, what a reception Harry Jennings 
received. Every one knew him and gave him their 
hand, and asked him to come again. So many 



CHURCH MEMBERS' INFLUENCE. 



253 



said, " I will pray for you, Harry, that you may 
be a true Christian." 

"Will you promise to accept Christ as your 
Saviour?" said brother Davis, a young brother 
about the age of Harry. 

Then Harry burst into tears. " Dear friend, if 
you have prayed for me when I was at such wicked 
places, God has answered your prayers, for I ac- 
knowledge I am a sinner, and I want to be a true 
Christian." 

"God bless you, Harry," said brother Davis. 

And brother Brown said, " You pray, Harry, 
pray." Then brother Davis and Willie and Harry 
went upstairs to the Auditorium to hear brother 
Dungan preach. His subject was " What shall 
we do to be saved?" Romans, chapter 12, verses 
1 and 2. After they had taken their seat, Harry 
turned to his friend and said : 

" Willie, your prayer is answered. I have made 
up my mind to make the confession of faith in the 
Lord Jesus Christ and be baptized to-night." 

" Oh, thank God ! I am so glad you are ready 
to accept Christ as your Savior, Harry." 

After the sermon was over, the pastor gave the 
invitation to any that wished to make the confes- 
sion of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, to come for- 
ward. Three went forward, Harry Jennings first, 
then his sister, Mary Jennings, and Sarah Jones. 
Oh ! what a surprise it was to many of the mem- 
bers to see Harry Jennings go forward and make 
the confession and say he wished to be baptized 



254 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOOL INFLUENCE. 

that same night. He said, " I cannot put it off 
any longer." Tears of joy came to his mother's 
eyes to see her son and daughter come to Christ 
and accept him as their Savior. So many said, 
" Why, only a week ago Harry was at a ball, and 
now he has been baptized and joined the church. 
Just think of it ! What a wicked boy he had got 
to be !" 

" He has been baptized to-night, and Mary and 
Sarah, and he has not been to church or Sunday- 
school for years and years ! Oh ! won't his moth- 
er be happy, if he will only stick to his promise 
and be a true Christian," said Mrs. Jones. Yes, 
indeed it will make her happy. 

CHAPTER II. 

Five years have passed. We find our friends, 
Harry Jennings and Willie Brown, in the college 
at Lincoln, Neb., studying for the ministry. They 
are in the same class, and will both graduate this 
year. Miss Mary Jennings is a music teacher* 
Miss Sarah Jones is teacher in the college. Cards 
are out for a double wedding to unite Harry 
Jennings and Miss Sarah Jones as husband and 
wife, and our friend Willie Brown and Miss Mary 
Jennings as husband and wife. Bro. Dungan 
performs the ceremony, and the double wedding 
is over. We will leave our happy friends for a 
few years and then return and make them a visit. 

Six years have passed. We find Bro. Willie 
Brown and wife and son Harry, three months 



CHURCH. MEMBERS' INFLUENCE. 25S 



old, all happy. Bro. Brown is preaching for the 
church on the North Side in Chicago, 111., and 
is loved by everybody. His wife is a great work- 
er in the church and Endeavor. We will now 
visit our dear friends, Bro. and Sister Harry 
Jennings. They reside in St. Louis, Mo. Bro. 
Jennings is pastor in charge of a church there, 
and is noted as a fearless speaker. He is not 
afraid to condemn sin wherever he finds it. He 
is so sociable ; never passes any one by without 
speaking to them. He is noted for his pastoral 
work, and his wife is loved and respected by 
all who know her. They are great workers 
among the Young People's Christian Endeavor; 
they visit the poor more than they do the rich. 
If any have to be passed by, it will be the rich. 
The poor never are passed to get to the wealthy. 
They are noted as the greatest workers in the 
temperance work. His wife is president of the 
Woman's Christian Temperance Union. Bro. 
Jennings preaches prohibition from the pulpit. 
He says, "It is in the Bible, and he is not afraid 
to speak the truth, and the whole truth." 

Too many preachers will not preach the whole 
truth, for they are not working to save souls, 
but for their own pockets. Bro. Jennings is not 
that kind of a preacher. He and his wife are 
working to save souls. God bless them and their 
work! Bro. Willie Brown is just the same kind 
of a preacher as Bro. Jennings. He is a very 
fearless speaker. He hits the one that says I 



256 CHURCH AND SUNDAY - SCHOQL INFLUENCE. 



am a Christian, then signs for a license, or votes 
for the liquor party. If all the preachers would 
preach prohibition from the pulpit there would 
not be so much corruption in politics. Some say, 
" Oh, we must not have politics in the church ; 
the devil is in politics." Then the churches 
should see that the devil is wiped out of politics, 
for these church members are in politics, and if 
a church member and a preacher can be in poli- 
tics, are they not bringing politics into the 
church ? Must they not condemn the devil 
wherever he is found? Brothers and sisters, 
study and think this matter over. We must con- 
demn sin wherever it is found, and keep the 
devil out. Willie Brown and wife have two sons. 
We hope they will be preachers, too. 

Harry Jennings and wife have a son and a 
daughter. We hope the son will be a preacher, 
and the daughter a preacher's wife. We will 
now bid them all farewell, wishing them a long 
and happy life. 



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